


Newsflash

by femmelesbian



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 80’s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate universe- 80’s, Bisexual Male Character, Crime, Detectives, Disabled Character, Gay Male Character, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Journalism, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 21:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmelesbian/pseuds/femmelesbian
Summary: Eric Slingby hasn’t worked on anything criminal since he left the police force to become a private investigator.That is, until he gets a phone call in the middle of the night reporting a murder.Alan Humphries, an aspiring crime journalist, has been assigned to report this case with the chance of having a permanent spot on the page, and god help the soul who stands in his way. Eric takes him under his wing, allowing him to witness the investigation firsthand, and they're about to find exactly how close a murder can bring two people.





	1. 1- Discovery

**Date: 4th June, 1987**  
**Location: A small town a ten minute drive outside of London**  
**Time: 3:34am**  
**Temperature: staring into an empty fridge for five minutes hoping for a snack to materialise**

~*~

"Hello? Is this Eric Slingby? Private investigator?"

"Not until eight in the morning."

"Please- Please, I need your help- I'm desperate-"

"Who is this?"

"Nobody, but- please- I'm begging you, please- **My girl is dead**."

~*~

This is, by far, the freakiest case that Eric had worked on so far in his whole career.

And Eric has seen some shit.

First of all- an anonymous caller; normal, perhaps, for a police department. Not a private investigator. You're meant to _pay_ private investigators. That's kind of how they make a living.

Eric, obviously, had pointed this out, to which the caller hurriedly assured him that they would send as much money as he needed to him monthly. They sounded desperate. It made his heart ache a little.

Upon learning what the case was- a death- Eric put his foot down, telling them that they absolutely had to call the police, and that there was little that he could do without them.

_The caller burst into tears._

They begged him, almost choking on their huge gasps, to please not call the police, they would send as much money as Eric wanted if he just wouldn't call the police. He gave in, assuring them that he would avoid getting the police involved, and asked for their details.

They hung up.

Eric was left with just the train station.

No one but him and a dead body.

To be fair, Eric has handled his fair share of dead bodies- he used to work as a police investigator. So he just got to work, as was natural to him.

He scans the body, crouching down- no visible trauma, so that meant it was a job for the freaks down at Forensics. Great. Not only does that involve the inescapable smell of human corpses, but almost definitely getting the police involved.

Hey, it would be worse to get the journalists on it, though.

Eric can't _stand_ journalism- he knows that it doesn't pay well for a lot of the newer ones, so it isn't fair at all for it to open up its arms to kids fresh out of university with an English degree the way it does. And the way that they just pounce on a story as soon as their ravenous eyes can see it, and the way they devour it, yet somehow turn it into something elegant, disturbs him. He can't understand how those people can approach the story with such cold unfeelingness, and make a story that makes people worldwide press their hands to their hearts and cry real tears. He just can't understand their writing after seeing them in action. The way they'll roll their eyes and call allegations of racism a melodrama right in front of Eric's face, and then glance at him- a black, Jewish man- and utter a half-hearted 'no offence'. The way they jump on something truly awful because it's the opportunity for a promotion. The way they work themselves to the bone.

It scares him.

"Aw, shit, I was hoping for something pure grim- the fuck is this?"

Exhibit A.

Eric turned to the voice- a man in his early twenties, with huge plastic frames, tanned, freckled skin and blonde hair, and holding a huge camera with the neckstrap over his shoulders, "Who sent you?"

"The police, innit," He replied from behind the camera, a blinding flash going off, "Ain't you the police?"

"No, I'm a private investigator." Eric replied, blinking rapidly, purple spots obscuring his vision.

"Fancy," The photographer commented, and spotted a friend who had just arrived, "At last, Al! I was starting to think you'd gone back to bed!"

"I wish," The aforementioned Al mumbled, waving a press pass in Eric's vague direction, "I'd only just finished that article on the election next week when they called me about this."

"Hey, freckles, make sure you get some good shots of the face- I need her identified first, alright?" Eric told him, and he nodded, grinning.

Al strode over to Eric, his face business-like, Doc Martens clacking against the cobblestones, "My name is Alan Humphries, I'm a junior reporter for the local newspaper. I'd like to ask you some questions."

Eric scanned him- He was Asian, and had full, dark brows and equally dark, hooded eyes with huge dark circles underneath. He had full, rounded lips, a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. He had a quick glance at his clothing- this was the kind of person that old people gave half-judgemental, half-fearful side eye in the street. He was wearing black denim jeans, and Eric got the distinct impression from his height that they weren't designed to be rolled up. His denim jacket was rolled at the sleeves, too, and covered in all kinds of pins and badges and patches. He sneaked a little peek at them, absorbing his character- Communist. Anarchist. A suspicious rainbow pin.

Oh, cool, he has a NASA pin.

Eric lit a cigarette, "Do you have to?"

Alan stared at him, raising a dark eyebrow, "I mean, if I want to get paid." He scathed, deadpan, his eyes narrowing dangerously behind his huge, round frames, "And considering that I've been living off microwaved vegetable soup since Monday, I think we both know what the best answer would be."

"No need for the attitude, short stuff- Learn some patience." Eric was more than taken aback at the response, but he didn't show it. Alan appeared to have a very definite way with words, where the tone would intimidate you, but the words themselves made your soul soften. It clearly doesn't get across to Alan, who just looks significantly more pissed off with him, and eyebrow raised while he waits for him to reply, "Eric Slingby. 30. Private investigator."

"You've clearly done this before," Alan comments dryly, and Eric isn't entirely sure what to make of that, "What do you think is the most likely cause of death?"

"I would say heart failure or poisoning," Eric said, glancing back down at the unharmed body, "But we can't say until the autopsy. Look, there's no trauma to the body."

Alan scribbled that down, and Eric caught a glance at the paper- illegible, as he expected, "So, how come you're up here and the police aren't? Don't you think that's suspicious?" His tone was almost condescending.

"The person that called me didn't want the police involved- and yes, it is suspicious, especially since the caller was anonymous." Eric said, full of contempt already at the question, "And the police have already got involved actually, they're on their way."

He saw Alan's dark eyes glimmer, "And you're yet to identify the body, yeah?"

Eric nodded, taking a drag.

God, he hates it when journalists realise that they've got a good story.

"So, this phone call," Alan begins, "Could you describe it to me?"

Truth be told, Eric genuinely felt that he shouldn't have told Alan this, for him to then publish to the country.

Well, too late for retrospection.

Alan stared at him for a moment, "You're taking the piss."

Eric grinned- he loves it when people do that about his job, "I promise you I'm not."

"You have to be."

Eric shrugged, "I wish I was," He admitted, "Freaked me the fuck out."

"I can see why," Alan mumbled, writing, "To be fair, this town is full of weirdos. Always something freaky going on."

Eric nodded, taking a drag, "You live here?"

Alan looked over the top of his notepad, " _I'm_ asking the questions," He insisted, "So, do you think that this might have been an accident? Or is a murder or a suicide more likely?"

Eric's brow furrowed, "Looking at it now, I'd say its a suicide- if it had been heart failure, then she'd have fell quite suddenly, but let's say she poisoned herself, then there's a good chance that she could have lied down to do it."

The first boy came over, "Al, the cops have just pulled up outside."

Alan turned around, " _You_ talk to them."

Ronald laughed, shaking his head, "Alright, man, but you're writing up this story."

Alan smiled, withholding a laugh, "Just write good notes, that's what you have a uni degree in, dumbass." He teased, while Ronald giggled, walking away.

Even Eric had to admit, Alan's soft side was pretty nice to see.

Alan gave an almighty sigh, unceremoniously throwing himself into a vague sitting position on the stone stairs, "I'm so fucking _tired_." He whined, his notepad abandoned in his lap as he put his fingers in his thick, black hair.

Eric sat next to him, offering him his packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He must have been looking cold once again, as he saw Alan hesitate slightly before taking one, and then lighting it quickly, as if he though Eric might take it off him again. He took a drag so deep that Eric thought that it might have been a truly impressive sigh, "Hate these things," He mumbled, then looked at Eric, "I'm sorry we didn't get off on the right foot. Just, you know, it's late, I've been working all night..."

Eric nodded, "I know, kid-"

"I'm twenty five."

Eric mentally slapped himself, "Sorry," He said, humble, "So... You ever worked on a death before?"

Alan shook his head, growing excitable, "I've been trying to get into crime reporting for years, our editor called me about this one and said if I do well then I'll have a permanent place."

Eric felt a vague sense of nostalgia from Alan's excitement over his job, "This is a big deal for you, then?"

"Huge," Alan said, and it's clear that the anxiety has set in for him, "I kind of need this promotion."

Eric was about to speak, but the photographer was running over to them, breathless, "Slingby- you're Slingby, right?"

Eric raised an eyebrow, "I hope so."

He gasped, his chest heaving, "Coppers want you- Asap," He pointed to the inside of the train station, "I think they just want a run down of what's gone on."

Alan looked cynical, "I really don't see how that warrants exercise, Ronald."

"Get it up your arse." Ronald swats, playfully defensive, and Alan smirks at him like it's some kind of secret code.

Eric smiles as he walks away- He loves that kind of humour between close friends that never really matures.

His footsteps echo in the vast building, eerily empty and liminal. He hears faster, more professional footsteps approaching him.

"Ah, Slingby. It's good to see you're doing well."

Eric nods respectfully, met with the hard, green eyes of his former boss, "Spears," He greets stoically, "What do you want?"

"I just need the details of this call you received- we may need to take the phone," He mentioned, vaguely apologetic, "Just to trace the caller."

"Mm, sure," He sighs, dejected, "Take what you want."

Spears shakes his head, "You've changed, Slingby." He comments, distant, "I need the details of this call."

"Anonymous," Eric monotones, "They were very distressed and emotional- desperate, that's the word. I asked them for their location and they hung up, they only really seemed willing to give the location and case."

"I see," William frowned, "This will be fun."

"Look, Spears-"

He raises an eyebrow, "I'm not your boss anymore, I don't mind being on first name terms, Eric."

"It really doesn't matter, just- look, this journalist, he's desperate for this promotion, if I could just take him down to the autopsy when it's time-"

"Oh, that charming young man outside?" Eric blinks- that's possibly the nicest think William's ever said, ever, particularly considering that he spotted at least two anti-police badges on that denim jacket, "He's welcome to tag along with you, if you wish to continue your own investigation."

"Sure thing," Eric agrees, "I'll keep you up to date on what we've found."

William nodded, "I think you ought to tell that journalist the good news."

In ten years of working with him, Eric has never seen William take such a shine to anyone.

Eric strolled our, Alan's head snapping towards him, "Go home," Eric calls, walking over to him. Alan's face falls, and Eric conceals a grin, "Type up your story, call up your boss about this and get some rest. You're sticking with me now."

Alan's face practically glows, "Should I give you my number? When will I next see you?"

"When the body gets the autopsy done," Eric promises, "I'll call you when they tell me it's done and I'll pick you up."

He has to admit, he prefers seeing him this happy, rather than his near expressionless gaze that he'd become aquatinted with.

"Okay, I'll see you there," Alan grabs his back from the stairs, running down them to Ronald, who was near his car, "Thank you!" He called, the sun just beginning to rise overtop the clouds.

Eric shook his head.

This kid really doesn't know what he's getting himself into.


	2. 2- The Autopsy Of Jane Doe

**Date: 7th June, 1987**  
**Location: Grimy apartment complex, London**  
**Time: 9:03 am**  
**Temperature: Early summer disappointment**

Eric sighed, looking expectantly at the door through his car window yet again.

Still no sign of Alan.

He frowns- said 'get some rest', not 'take the entire piss'.

He'd even answered the phone when Eric called to say he was on his way. He couldn't think for the life of him what was taking him so long.

Oh, wait, maybe he could.

Alan was approaching from the other direction, looking just as mentally and physically exhausted as the last time he'd seen him. Eric opened the passenger side door, "Get in, loser, we're going to forensics."

Alan basically collapses in the car seat, "Sorry," He yawns, "I had to run some papers down to the office..."

Eric frowns, starting the car, "Can't you drive?"

Alan rubs his eyes, "No, I'm gay."

Eric has to restrain laughter at his completely serious tone, "That's hardly an excuse."

Alan hugs his knees, already half asleep, "Whatever," He whines, "Where are we going?"

"Forensics," Eric explains, "They're going to give us a rundown of the autopsy. This should be a fairly open and shut case in terms of finding out how she died, after that, we just need to work out who called me and potentially who did it."

Alan nodded, "So we can wrap this up fairly quickly and then get on to the actual investigation?"

"Hopefully," Eric warned, "I can't make any promises. If it's totally impossible, then we'll just help out with tracking the caller and work on the cause of death on the side."

Alan nods, "Cool." There's a slight pause, and Alan bites his lip, "What's an autopsy like?"

"I don't know, I've never had one."

Alan shot him a scathing look.

"Look, it honestly depends," Eric explained, trying to be as honest as possible, "I've seen some truly horrific ones, so don't think that all your autopsies are going to be pretty ginger ladies with no wounds."

Alan gave him an impressive side eye, raising an eyebrow, "I'm not a kid, you don't have to treat me like one."

Eric rolls his eyes, "I'm just warning you," He says again, "It takes some getting used to."

Alan nods slowly, looking contemplative. Eric sees him out the side of his eye, "Nervous?"

"No." Alan snaps.

"You're welcome to go to sleep, you know."

To his surprise, rather than fighting, Alan just puts his oxblood doc martens up on the seat, hugging his knees and falling asleep almost instantly. Eric raises an eyebrow, wondering if maybe Alan's just able to fall asleep quickly all the time, or if he'd been working himself to death. He definitely seemed like the type to, but then, he also seemed like the type of person who wouldn't be nervous of going to an autopsy.

There is one thing Eric has learned, and it's that you can take nothing and no one at face value.

The car goes over a huge pothole.

Alan sighs in his sleep.

Eric's eyes widen slightly. This man is _untouchable_.

After a few more minutes of what is probably the most peaceful sleep Alan has had in his whole adult life, they pull up outside a dingy looking building in the middle of the country, with two black cars in their tiny car park, and one vaguely threatening white van. Alan stirred waking up and straightening his glasses, "Are we here?"

"Afraid so," Eric grimaces, "Try not to stand in anything with your fancy shoes."

He almost expects Alan to take off his shoes altogether from the look on his face, and he laughs, "It was a joke, it's not that bad."

Alan still diligently scans the ground as they walk up to the door, "Well, you've said it now." He sighs, "Do we knock?"

Eric frowns, nodding, "It's definitely safer."

"Stop it."

Alan gives a firm knock, and the door swings open almost immediately, a young woman, slightly younger than Alan opening it, "Eric! And... Eric's friend!"

'Eric's friend' raises an eyebrow, folding his arms, "Alan."

The woman grins, delighted, "Sascha," She introduces herself, "Come on in, make yourself at home! The big boss will be out soon, he's just doing... Something. Tea?"

Alan represses a grimace, stepping in, "I'm good." He assures her, trying to breath shallowly.

Eric nods, making a strained smile, "I'm fine."

"I think you've finally managed to find something that Othello can't do, y'know," Sascha says to Eric, sipping her tea, "He's been so caught up in there, working day and night. Is that why your friend is here?"

"My name is Alan," Alan quips, "And I'm a journalist."

Sascha makes an 'oooh' sound of understanding, "I see," She says, "Well, you've got a very good story indeed, then. And, you know, this case was brought in from weirdo-town, so that's pretty good, too. Where are you from, anyway?"

Eric cringes, almost putting his head in his hands, and Alan raises a thick eyebrow so high it appears over his glasses, "Peckingham." He deadpans after a pause, and him and Eric share a look from the corner of their eyes.

A door opens somewhere, and a man in his late 30's with incredibly messy black hair and obviously an acute awareness of awkward situations appears in the doorway, "Thank god you're here." He breathes in relief, looking as if he might collapse on the floor at any moment.

Eric gestures to the man, looking to Alan, "This is Othello," He tells Alan, and Othello shakes Alan's hand. He smells of coins and stale sweat, "Othello, this is Alan."

"Ah, you!" Othello grins, enthusiastic. He had a high, nasally voice, "I've heard you're quite a colourful character, y'know, and I don't think we've ever had a journalist in here! Come on in, you guys, then!"

Eric can hear Alan's stalking along behind him as Othello talks, "Now, as you may have noticed, I've been solely living on coffee and sugar for three days, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit out of it- now then-" He pulls a sliding door open, gesturing the two in, "This is the worst thing I've ever had in my office- I can't figure this out for the life of me."

"It can't be _that_ bad," Eric pokes, taking it as a joke, "Come on, master Forensic investigator stumped by a little ginger lady?"

"Don't rub it in," Othello collapses in a chair, rubbing his temples, "We did a toxicology- nothing. Dissection- nothing. No outer body wounds. _Nothing_."

Alan jots that down, "Any chance of taking a picture? Of the body, I mean."

Othello shrugs, "I mean, I won't stop you. Most people just tend to stop themselves." He jerks a thumb over to Eric, "Except this freak over here."

Alan cringes, "Maybe just the face."

Eric suddenly remembers something, "Did either of you get her identified?"

"No, I'm taking pictures of dead people so I can hang them on my bedroom wall." Alan snarks, looking away from his camera.

Othello shakes his head sadly, "She's off the grid. We took fingerprints, DNA, even blood samples- do you know how hard it is to get blood from something without a pulse?"

Eric falls into a chair, sighing, "I can't do this anymore."

A flash goes off, and Alan clears his throat, "I mean, there's still ways we could try, right?" He suggests, for once being the most optimistic person in the room, "I mean, have you looked for bone diseases yet? It would be a good way to identify a body if we looked around hospitals."

"Look, kid, it's a good idea, but whatever you're gonna say, I've done." Othello says, resigned.

"Excellent idea, though." Eric compliments, and Alan sits in a chair, biting his nails.

"So, it's not organ failure?" Alan asks, sounding defeated.

Othello shakes his head, looking equally dejected.

Eric stands up, examining the face, "I mean, she doesn't even really look that distinctive," He peels back the cover over her body, "I mean, except for the fact that she's been dissected." He tacks on quickly.

Alan's dark skin turns ashy, "You could have said something before you did that." He says weakly, but he doesn't turn away.

Othello shrugs, "I mean, look- she's the model of a healthy woman."

Alan gives him a look, "Her liver is in a plastic bag."

Othello shrugs, "Don't get caught up in the technicalities, kid."

Eric sighs, "Do you still have her finger prints and DNA? We'll run them down to the police and see what they can do with them."

Othello frowns, standing up and walking out the door, "They're probably around somewhere, I'll look..."

Alan looks at Eric, "It's not really looking hopeful, is it?"

Eric shrugged, "Don't get too caught up in it," He warns, "We don't know what the police have found yet."

Alan rolls his eyes, "Probably nothing. They would have called." He bites his lip in thought, "Maybe it's like that lady they found in the bushes in Yorkshire in '81. For god's _sake_ , cover it back up again."

Eric goes to grab the sheet and throw it back over the body. He stops blunt, staring at his hand, " _shit shit shit shit-_ "

Alan turns pale, "What? What happened? Did you touch it?"

He cackles, "Gotcha," Alan swats playfully at him, "You're a real germaphobe, aren't you?"

Alan shakes his head, "Y'know, just the presence of dead corpses and their bodily fluids fill me with a sense of dread- I know, it's weird."

"Don't be so sarcastic." Eric scolds playfully.

Othello pulls the door open, clear plastic bags in tow, "Fingerprints," He announces, giving that one to Alan- to his relief- "And DNA samples. Merry Christmas." He jokes, handing that one to Eric.

"Thanks, man," Eric says sincerely, "We've gotta go run these down to the police, but if we're unlucky we'll see you again."

Othello laughs, walking them to the door, "Good luck, you guys!" He calls as they leave, "I hope you get your story done up good, kiddo!"

Alan and Eric get in the car, and Alan immediately looks fuming, "I can't believe that Sascha woman."

"Tell me about it," Eric agrees, lighting a cigarette, "She keeps on trying to touch my hair."

Alan actually bursts into laughter, "She's, like, my height, how does that work out?"

Eric shrugs, chuckling as he starts the car, "I don't know, I'm, like, 6"4, I think?" He starts driving, "Right, police station."

Alan begins scribbling diligently, "I'm gonna ask you a question Ronald asks me all the time." He announces- it's not an option.

"Only if I can ask you a question back."

"Sure," Alan says breezily, "Do you think there's such a thing as someone who's pure evil?"

Eric looks rather taken aback, "I'm not sure." He admits, and thinks for a moment, "I think there is. I've seen a lot of depraved actions and people in my work."

"See, I don't think so," Alan begins, still writing, "Because I believe that everyone has the capability to change as a person, so as long as you retain that, you can never be pure evil. I think that people can act out of pure evil, but they'll never be evil."

Eric raises his eyebrows, "Deep." He comments, "I was just gonna ask you if you live with Ronald."

Alan laughs, "Right now, yes," He replies, "He couldn't afford his rent for a few months, so he's staying with me until he can find somewhere cheaper."

Eric smiles, heartwarmed, "You'd do anything for him, huh?"

"If it meant I never slept again," Alan replies in a rare moment of vulnerability, "He's the best friend I've ever had."

Eric's chest goes warm- He might not show it, but Alan's really just as kind as Eric is, "We're here."

Alan frowns, "Why's that officer coming towards the car?" He demands, automatically suspicious.

"It's just Spears," Eric assured him, rolling down his window, "What's up?"

William has a look of pure, seething anger, but keeps it at bay, "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"We've been out." Eric replied simply.

"For God's sake, you're a successful man in 1987, get yourself a mobile."

"Oh, yeah, let me just pull out my extra thousand quid."

William rolls his eyes, "Get in, we need to talk."

Alan hops out the car with Eric, immediately adopting the same, businesslike stride he'd adopted when he first met him and actually witnessed people cross the road to get out of his way.

His persuasion towards the police would have been more than clear, even without the pins.

"Simply put, we've got a lead." William says, striding at Alan's pace.

"What do you mean, you've got a lead?" Alan replies in abject horror.

"We did some tests," William replies simply, "We believe that we've found someone involved, we just need answers from her."

"How, though?" Eric asks, stunned, and a little annoyed.

"We seized the victim's clothing as evidence before we sent her to forensics," William explains, "The dress was handmade, and we traced it back to this woman in here now- she also had her pocketwatch in the pocket of her dress, which also appears to have been handmade- and recently, at that. This means that we can either get a good idea of where she was before her death, or her home address if it was delivered."

"I'm not sure about this," Eric admitted, pulling the door of the police station open, "I'm fairly convinced that she didn't die at the train station."

William glares at him, "Then sit tight and wait to find out if you're right." He snaps, and then turns to Alan, making some sorting of face close to a smile, "You can come in, of course, I'm sure you'll want to document it."

Alan turns to Eric and they share the exact same look- what a jackass.

"Now," William says briskly, "If you would just come this way."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmaoooo this very nearly ran over by A LOT i had to restrain myself
> 
> also my search history has been VERY questionable this whole chapter lmao


	3. 3- Alan Makes Eric Question More Than The Suspect

**Date: 7th June, 1987**   
**Location: Police station, London**   
**Time: 12:09 pm**   
**Temperature: Is it really summer? Is it _really_?**

William opens the door, Eric walking in behind him, and they both sit behind the desk, facing a woman in her mid-thirties, with short, bright red hair, which she'd managed to tease rather high, and a red power suit with a white shirt underneath. Alan sat next to her, presumably in some understated act of solidarity.

"Now, for the good of our guests and myself, could you please remind me of your name?" William asks, pulling out a tape recorder.

"Angelina Dallas." She announces, and Eric has to envy the note of pride she has in her voice.

"Alan Humphries," Alan copies, smiling and adjusting his glasses, "I'm a journalist."

Eric realises with a jolt what Alan's doing-

_He's trying to establish that he's equal to Angelina and to show that someone's on her side._

That's quite sweet of him, really.

"Now, Miss Dallas," William pulls out two photographs and pushes them across the desk, "Do you remember making these? If so, please give us the details."

Angelina looks over them- one of the dress, another of the watch, "Yes, I made these." She confirms, "A man ordered them, though, not a woman."

Alan's eyebrows shoot up, and he begins scribbling at speed.

Eric loves how expressive he is, for someone who comes across so cold.

"Did he order in person or by phone?" Eric asks, snatching at conclusions.

"In person," Angelina replies, and Alan and Eric both wilt, "He was about this tall, he had dark brown hair and eyes, and he had lots of freckles. The order was put in name of Zacharias Welch, but I don't know if that was his real name."

Eric glances at Alan. He's still scribbling, his thick, black hair falling in front of his focused, dark eyes- he never noticed he had those faint little freckles under his eyes before. His full lips frown a little in their concentration-

"Slingby."

Eric clears his throat, "Did you get that, Alan?"

Alan nods wordlessly.

William rolls his eyes, "Where was the order sent?"

"Nowhere," Angelina says bluntly, "He came to collect it himself."

"When was this?" Eric asks.

Angelina shrugs, bewildered, "I don't know? Like, the third was when he came to collect it, I think?"

"Day before the body was found." Alan comments tonelessly.

"Did he state anything of importance?" William asks, "Relation? Occasion?"

"Nothing," Angelina insists, "Are you going to keep me here for long?"

"Tell me about it." Alan murmurs.

"Only if you don't cooperate," William says briskly, "Did anything seem suspicious about him at the time?"

"He was in a bit of a rush," Angelina replies, still overwhelmed, "But he was dressed in a suit and he had a briefcase, I thought maybe he was in a rush to get to work."

Alan and Eric look at each other, "-Hitman." "-Men in black."

William sighs demurely, "Ignore these pair, Miss Dallas," He insists, "I doubt this man has anything to do with the actual death, and much less aliens, Humphries."

Alan pouts, shifting those thick, dark brows once again, "Speak for yourself."

Angelina giggles.

God, the way that he tries to make her feel so comfortable is so compassionate on his part. Eric feels his chest warm a little.

"Did he look anything like this?" Eric asks, showing her a photo of the victim.

"No," She still seems to be rather worked up, "Nothing like that."

Eric sighs, but Angelina suddenly peeks up, "He did leave his phone number, though," She says, "I called him when the order was ready."

Alan looks like he might start cheering out of pure happiness, "What was it?" Eric jumps to the question.

"I can't remember of the top of my head-"

"You stay here." William interrupts, and Alan immediately looks distrustful, "I'll send someone to get the order sheet so that we can track him down. You two, come here." He gestures to a room beside the office.

"I'll stay here." Alan announces. It's not a request.

William rolls his eyes, "Eric, come here."

Eric follows him into the smaller office, closing the door behind him, "What do you need?"

"Just go back to that train station for me," He asks, "I just want you to look for evidence- fingerprints and such. I don't trust this woman fully."

Eric nods, "Sure," He agrees, "Do you already have samples from her?"

William waves a dismissive hand, "I'll do it while you're out. Take your soft goth pretty-boy with you, too.

Eric's brow furrowed, "Hey, leave him alone," He insists lowly, "He's a good man."

William raises an eyebrow curiously, looking at Eric a little too long, "You may leave.

~*~

**Date: 7th June, 1987**   
**Location: The exact same freaky train station, but even freakier**   
**Time: 1:37pm**   
**Temperature: British people whining because it's 'meant to be summer'**

"I fucking hate it here."

Eric rolls his eyes, looking back at Alan man-spreading dramatically across the stone stairs, "Are you actually going to help, or just pose and smoke my cigarettes?"

Alan gives him a scathing look, "I haven't quite decided yet." He snarks, then sprawls rather dramatically, "Is there a Greggs or a Maccies in this shithole? I'm starving."

"Gotta agree with you there," Eric sighed, looking in his pocket for change, "Try and find somewhere, get us both something." He requested, putting the change in Alan's hand.

"How gentlemanly of you to pay for dinner." Alan joked, walking away and waving, but Eric can't figure out for the life of him why his cheeks got so warm.

For the love of all things holy, concentrate.

He walks back to where they found the body- god, these outlines are ugly, they never fail to send a shiver down his spine. It would help if Spears has given him even the vaguest idea of what he was looking for, but no, he'd just sent him out. Abandoned him. With one of the prettiest people he knows.

Wow, intrusive thought alert.

He frowns, staring at the floor around him- he's still fairly certain in his assumption that the body was moved here, it was just figuring out where the hell from. And why in such a public place? And who the hell is Zacharias Welch?

This woman was creating more questions than she was answering.

And Eric just stares and stares, waiting for something, anything, to materialise.

Maybe he should just say that the scene was contaminated and call it a day.

No, Alan would hate that.

For fucks sake, why does each and every thought keep on tracing back to Alan?

Focus.

A hair.

Thank fuck.

He picks it up- it looks to be a pretty similar colour to that of the victim, but it's still worth a shot. He seals it in a plastic bag.

"Tada!” Alan exclaims, holding two McDonald’s bags, “Big Mac’s all round, because I’m starving.”

The happiest Eric has ever seen Alan is holding two bags of pure calories.

Seems about right for a starving writer.

Eric grabs the bag, showing Alan the plastic one, “That’s all I have to show for the whole time you’ve been out.”

Alan shrugs, mouth already full of food, “Better than nothing,” He says eventually, then looks accusingly at his burger, “Remember when Maccies first opened and you could get one of these for 77p?”

Eric nods, “This was fine dining at the time.” He jokes.

Alan grins, “Me and my dad lived on this.” He turns to Eric, “So, what’s the plan? Hand this in to Spears and then track down this Welch guy?”

“Probably,” Eric admits, “I think Spears just wants us out the way while he tries to track him down, we’ll probably end up actually dealing with him.”

Alan rolls his eyes, “Typical fucking police.”

Eric nods, “Innit,” He turns to Alan, “You ever think about being in forensics or something? You’re pretty good at this.”

Alan shrugs, “Kinda, when I was picking my degree, but then I figured I’d end up dealing with those assholes more often than I could take.”

Eric laughs, “Shit, you’ve got more attitude than they could take, they wouldn’t fuck with you.”

Alan shrugs, “Nah, it’s more just their general presence, y’know?” He stands up, stretching, “Are we going back now?”

“Sure thing,” Eric assures, “Hell, this might be the end of it.”

“Bummer,” Alan frowns, “I was just starting to warm up to you.”

~*~

**Location: London Police Station**   
**Time: 2:56pm**

“It’s Angelina’s hair.”

Eric frowns, “But that’s impossible, look at the colour difference.” He insists, pointing to the hair he’d found and the sample straight from Angelina. Clear as day, one was a light ginger, and the other a gaudy red.

William frowns back, “What do you want me to do, Slingby? They’re exactly the same DNA wise, and it’s all the DNA we have from the scene.” He says accusingly.

Alan frowns, equally accusing, his hands buried in the pockets of his denim jacket, “How do we know that it’s not someone she’s related to?” He insists, “Surely that would be more likely- I mean, use your eyes, Spears.”

William shrugs, “Miss Dallas actually confirmed that she dyed her hair after the body was found. It’s entirely possible. She’s being arrested on suspicion.”

Alan drags his hands down his face, “But it’s so circumstantial. I mean, hair DNA is hardly anything without the follicle.”

“And it’s all we have,” William says accusingly, “And last time I checked, you were a journalist, Mr. Humphries. Your qualification was writing down what I say.”

“And what’s yours? Beating the everloving shit out of innocent people?”

Eric puts a hand on Alan’s shoulder, “We’re leaving.”

Alan storms out, fuming, “I can’t fucking believe this-” He scathes once outside, looking surprisingly threatening for someone who’s 5”4.

“Hey, hey,” Eric grabs his shoulders again, facing him, “Chill out. Your story’s finished, you’re getting paid, and hell, I’ll be getting paid soon. What’s got you so worked up?”

“What- what has me so worked up?” Alan almost yells, “He’s wrong, that’s what’s got me so worked up!”

Eric sighs, “But from the forensic side, he’s completely right. I really don’t know why you think he’s wrong.”

“Look, I don’t know either, just-” He pauses to think, “I can just feel it, okay? I know she didn’t do it. She’s very suspicious, I’ll give him that, but she didn’t do it.”

Eric shakes his head, “Come back with your evidence, and maybe he’ll listen.” He tells him, patting his shoulder, “I’ll drive you home.”

~*~

**Date: 7th June, 1987**   
**Time: 3:12am**   
**Location: street in London**   
**Temperature: When you flip your duvet to the cold side but it’s too cold so you just lie there and suffer**

“Eric!” Alan starts hammering on the door once again, typewriter in his hand, and documents under his arm, “Eric, let me in!”

Eric finally opens the door, stood in just his underwear and a t-shirt, “What do you want, other than to take the piss?”

“I can prove that Angelina didn’t do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was off sick today so i hope you enjoyed this Absolute Garbage™️


	4. A Sleepover That Consists Of Very Little Sleep

**Date: 8th June, 1987**   
**Location: Average Townhouse, London**   
**Time: 2:34am**   
**Temperature: An inviting tub of ice cream in the middle of your mental breakdown**

Eric stares at him for a moment, the cold brushing against his bare arms and legs, "What the fuck, Alan?"

Alan stands on the doorstep expectantly, "Can you please let me in?" He readjusts his grip on his typewriter, "This is heavy as anything."

Eric sighs, leading him in, "Make yourself at home," He gestures, and Alan sits on the sofa, already typing away at obnoxious volumes, "So what the fuck have you done now?"

Alan stops typing for a moment, looking around him, "Oh, wow, this place is nice," He comments, looking around at the creme coloured walls and the parquet floors, which all felt perfectly warm and inviting after being out in the cold and dark for so long. He hears a faint clacking against the wooden floors, "Oh my god, what kind of dog is that?"

Eric grins at the sight of Alan on the floor petting the dog, "He's a long haired German Shepherd," He explains, "His name's Sunny."

Alan appears to have completely forgotten why he's here in the first place, quite content with sitting on the floor with the dog, "So," Eric begins, inpatient, "You were about to explain why you're in my house at two in the morning."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Alan laughs awkwardly, "I got kinda carried away."

"I noticed."

"Anyway," Alan begins, "I don't really think this clears things up in any capacity, but it is an advancement."

Eric collapses on the other sofa, "Yeah, nothing's been really cleared up."

Alan nodded his head, "As I was saying," He carries on typing, "I was doing my laundry, and I noticed this really bright red hair on my jacket, and it was way too short to be my editor's, so it was obviously Dallas's.

Anyway, I got thinking about how similar the hair you found was to the victim's, and I just couldn't stop thinking about how strange it was, so I got Ronald to drive me over to Othello's-"

"I'll bet he was thrilled."

"Extremely." Alan deadpans, unable to fully hide his excitement, "But just look at these!" He shows two documents to Eric.

Eric grabs them, scanning them briefly, "They're not the same..."

"But very similar." Alan finishes, "Which is very suspicious, yeah?"

Eric nodded, "Absolutely."

"See, and Othello told me that it would only make sense for them to be that similar if they were related," Alan explains, his typewriter still making various, increasingly obnoxious noises, "So why would she lie to us?"

Eric shook his head, "She never said that she did or didn't know her- that's a fault on mine and Spears's part, but still, that is strange." He glances over, "I don't want to be rude, but what are you typing?"

"Tomorrow's news," Alan says shortly, "This is the questioning that you did yesterday. But still, why wouldn't she tell us if they were related?"

Eric frowns on thought, "Maybe she didn't know, but that would be a very big coincidence," He says, "You stay put, I'll call Spears- and maybe, like, forget to tell him that this was all you, since it's pretty shady."

Alan shrugs, "Whatever, I just need to get this finished."

Eric sighs softly as he dials the number- it's not exactly surprising that Alan has some degree of a healthy disregard for the law. He just hopes it stays healthy.

"Spears?"

"I don't know who this is, but you better have a damn good reason for calling at this time of night."

"It's Eric."

"Then it goes double. What the hell is that noise?"

Alan winced, whispering a little 'sorry'.

Eric rolled his eyes, "Just listen, Spears," Eric presses, "I got some of Angelina's hair tested against the victim's, and they're pretty damn similar- as in, they're related, similar. Are we getting her back for more questioning?"

William sighs, "Probably, I'll sleep on it. Well done." He tacks onto the end, somewhat genuinely, "It is very interesting. Oh, and before you put the phone down, we've tracked down this Zacharias Wench person, I'll send you to him tomorrow. Come over when you're ready. Bring Humphries."

"Of course," Eric nods, "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Alan frowns at his typewriter, "Does 'snappy' or 'quickfire' work better to describe the questioning?"

Eric thinks for a moment, "Neither. What about rapid?"

"Too weak," Alan shoots down, "Hm... what about this- 'A steady, yet brisk stream of questions'?"

Eric smiles, nodding, "I think you got it."

Alan does a cute little wiggle, "Hell yeah," He celebrates, "Now I just need some white out."

Eric laughs, throwing him a bottle from the draw, "Take what you need," He offers, "You're going to be wanting pillows and blankets, right?"

Alan blinks at him, "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you have to be planning on staying for the night," Eric explains, a little baffled, "No amount of denim and cool little pins are gonna save you from drunk skinheads."

Alan thinks, then shrugs, "I mean, I'll probably pass out on the sofa as soon as I've finished this, so it's not a bad idea." He smiles at Eric- brightly and genuine, "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

Eric feels the warmth creeping up his neck in a way that was becoming far too familiar for his tastes, "No problem," He mumbles, "When are you handing your story in?"

"Tomorrow morning," Alan replies, still typing away, "Or my editor might kill me, she still needs to look this over."

Eric shakes his head, "I can't understand why you'd go into a job so hard."

Alan looks at him in the eyes, completely bewildered, "Because I love it." He says simply, "I love mysteries and theories and the unknown, I just had to work at it a bit more to get there."

"Crazy," Eric scolds, shaking his head, "All of you, too crazy and motivated for your own good."

Alan smirks, "And you're not?" He teases, "You talk with murderers and all kinds of twisted people every day."

Eric ignores him, smiling, "What's the plan for tomorrow morning, then?"

Alan squints at his paper, readjusting his glasses, "If I'm fast, I'll get this in by about seven, and then I suppose I'll be back here by about eight, and you'll be ready to go then, right?"

Eric look at him expectantly, "Where are you fitting breakfast in there?"

Alan frowns, raising his eyebrows, "I don't know her."

Eric rolls his eyes, "Right, you need it in for seven, right?" Alan nodded, biting his lip as he typed, "Well I'll drive you there, and then you'll have enough time for breakfast before we leave, okay?"

Alan sighs, "But you already let me stay the night, I don't what you carting me all over the place on top of that."

Eric looks at him, bewildered, "It's not a big deal, Alan."

Alan sighed, "I mean, if you don't mind, then I guess, I just don't want to be any trouble for you."

Eric stares at him in astonishment, "Alan, you've just potentially freed a woman from prison, and helped me with my job- why do you think you're a bother?"

Alan shakes his head, turning a bit red, "You know what? Just drop it, I don't care anymore."

Eric smiles, shaking his head as he stands up, "I'll see you in the morning," he announces, walking towards the doorway, "Sleep well."

Alan nods, still furiously typing, "You too."

~*~

Alan certainly appeared to have slept well- he was sprawled across the sofa, his curled, thick hair a mess on the pillow, and light snores coming from the mass underneath the duvet. Eric shakes his head lovingly, holding the tray with one hand and gently shaking Alan with the other, "I made you breakfast," He says softly once his dark eyes flutters open, "Did you get your work finished last night?"

"Mm," He replies, rubbing his eyes, his voice husky with sleep, "I borrowed your phone just to let Ronald know where I was, too."

"That's fine," Eric assures him, "We'll both eat and get ourselves ready, and then we'll be on our way."

Alan nods, nibbling reluctantly on a piece of toast, "Thanks for all of this. You didn't have to."

Eric shrugs, "I wanted to. You did me a favour."

Alan frowns, "I guess. You still didn't have to, though."

Eric smirks, "And I like tearing apart you tough image."

Alan rolls his eyes, smirking playfully, "Whatever," He jokes, "You're just jealous that I can make people move out my way and I'm only 5'4."

Eric shakes his head, grinning, "Only you would try and start a fight with me in my own house."

He laughs, "That's what I do," He says, glancing at a clock, "We need to go soon."

Eric nods in understanding, "I'll get ready, just hold on." He promises, wandering upstairs.

Alan gathers his papers, skimming over them once again, biting his lip. They really don't seem to be up to the usual standard- god fucking dammit, this was meant to be the best he could do, right? Especially this part of it, this is what people want to read, people want to find out who did it, he can't just slip by with it being firmly mediocre. Maybe Ronald was right when he said he should only write at sensible times. Or maybe this was just how he wrote? Maybe the beginning story was just a fluke? Wait, what the fuck is that?

He groans, burying his head in his hands. His writing is incredibly unspectacular and he's spelt his own name wrong.

Fucking great.

Eric comes downstairs, yet to put on the shirt in his hand, "What's with your ungodly wailing?" He jokes, and then softens slightly at the sight of the state that's Alan's in.

"I spelt my own name wrong." Alan mumbles, half-lying as he tries and fails to fight a blush at the sight of Eric.

Eric raises an eyebrow, throwing his shirt on and sitting next to him, "That's perfectly understandable," He says gently, "It's gotta be more than that."

Alan hands him his papers, pouting, "Look at it."

Eric scans it, frowning, "What's wrong with it?"

Alan gestures at all of it, "It's so mediocre."

"Right," Eric begins firmly, "First of all, this is fine. This isn't losing anyone's attention, I promise. Second; it's probably not going to be your best, you were up till asscrack o'clock in the morning writing this. Am I right?"

Alan smiles reluctantly, nodding.

Eric looks rather pleased with himself, "Anyway, what's your editor for?" He points out, "Now get your shoes on, it's past time we were going."

Alan slips on his doc martens, tying them almost worryingly tight, "We better get going, then," He says breezily, then shoots a smile at Eric, "Thank you for all of this."

Eric goes warm again, "What do you want me to do, leave you to run all over London all night?"

Alan drags his hands down his face, "Jesus Christ, just take the thank you!"

Eric laughs, unlocking the door, "Get in the car, you weirdo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated in a bit I’ve been pretty sick so I’ve been sleeping a lot, I’ll try to do better in the future!


	5. The Newsroom and The Case Of Zacharias Welch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK YALL
> 
> i accidentally abandoned ao3 so y’all are gonna get some spam sorry lmao

**Date: 8th June, 1987**   
**Time: 7:36am**   
**Location: Where aspiring writers go to die (aka the editor's office)**   
**Temperature: inky hell**

Eric didn't ever really have to go into a newsroom to know that he didn't want to, but now that he's in one, it has definitely confirmed his suspicions.

He didn't even _know_ that desperation had a smell.

He just follows Alan, who gives the odd wave towards some poor soul in the same state that he was in last night, and they give a strained smile in return. The sounds of the phones ringing and the typewriters typing and the faxes receiving all seems to be some cruel torture to Eric's ears.

Alan perks up suddenly, grinning at someone who looked very familiar to him, "Hey, Ronald!"

Ronald squints at him from across the room, adjusting his thick plastic frames, "Well, spank my arse and call me a biscuit, what are you doing around here? We all you'd embezzled the company and migrated to Aruba with your freshly nicked millions!"

Alan rolls his eyes, "I did call you to tell you I wasn't coming home."

"At four o-bastard-clock in the morning!" Ronald exclaims, "I think I'd worked it out by then!"

Even Alan can't fully stifle a giggle, "Okay, I'm sorry," He says genuinely, "I'll make it up for you."

"No, you won't," Ronald dismisses, "Just get home at a real people time and we'll call it even, 'kay? Or call me at a normal time if your not coming home- oh, and you've got a Chinese waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Suzie's?"

"You know it."

"Get _in_ ," Alan cheers, "Thanks, Ronnie."

"No problem," He assures him, getting back to typing, "So, are you coming home tonight?"

"Probably," He assures him, "I just gotta send this story down to Hades- hell, I might even get it back if I'm lucky."

Ronald points at him accusingly, "Positive attitude!" He demands, "You're out there reporting news! Getting your own stories! Making me proud!"

"Will you shut the fuck up with your positive bullshit? Anyone can see it's Arma-bastard-geddon around here." A tall man in glasses demands, irritated.

Ronald completely ignores him, making Eric laugh heartily, "Now go and get your job done, you skiver! I haven't seen you in this office in ages!"

Alan laughs, waving a goodbye and walking away into a corridor.

"He's a good friend," Eric comments, shutting the door behind him, "You're lucky."

"I know," Alan agrees, "You can always count on him."

Eric frowns, looking around, "Can't we put on a light or something?"

"The bulb broke last month," Alan sighs as they start to climb down the stairs "Why do you think we call it Hades? It's underground and it's dark as shit."

"Alright, smart-arse, I didn't ask for a literary analysis." Eric pokes, joking, "I just don't want to break my neck falling down the stairs."

"Well, you know," Alan says, grabbing onto a banister, "Just because we're all nocturnal doesn't mean we're vampires."

"That sounds like something a vampire would say."

"Hilarious, I'm sure." Eric thinks he sees Alan's silhouette turn to face him, "Don't you dare trip over me."

"Can't make any promises," Eric mumbled, "It's hard enough to see you, anyway."

"Shut up, tall-ass." Alan scathes as they come to the bottom of the stairs, which is dimly lit with a bulb that flickers ominously. Three plastic chairs sit in a line to the left of a door, with a sign that reads 'Editor's Office- G. N. Sutcliffe'

He knocks firmly, and a woman's voice calls, "Come in, my darling, I've been looking forward to this!"

Alan laughs, swinging the door open, and Eric's relieved to find that this room was well-lit, and smelt strongly of perfume and scented candles, "I just managed to get it finished in time."

A woman sits behind the desk, laughing graciously. She looked to be in her mid or late thirties, and indian. Her  long hair was dyed a fantastic red colour that matched her lipstick, and had been teased fashionably high. She was wearing a red suit jacket that hang loosely on her, and a black skirt and shirt, and had the overall air of a well cared for middle class woman that worked hard, "I'll skim it quickly now, if you don't mind," She asks, holding her hand out. She looks up at Eric, smirking, "You haven't introduced your guest."

"Oh, this is Eric Slingby," Alan introduces, pulling up a chair for the both of them, "Eric, this is Grell, my editor."

Grell raises an eyebrow as she reads, "This is good," She says slowly, still perusing, "What's with this Wench man?"

"We'll find out today, hopefully," Eric explains, reclining in his chair, "I mean, providing we don't get kicked out or he tries to start a fight." He teases, hoping to get a reaction from Alan.

Alan remains firmly unfazed, though Grell looks parentally horrified, "I can't have you taking him to a situation like that-"

"Joke, joke," Eric assures her, "And I'm not being funny, but I'd be more scared of him starting the fight."

Grell laughs genuinely then, "It's good that you're getting on," She says, "I just don't want any of my reporters in any overly dangerous situations at work, you know? That'd get us a lawsuit, and that's messy business- and who would report it?" She laughs a high laugh, and Alan sniggers with her.

"Anyway," She continues, adjusting her hair, "I suppose if you've got work to do, I better set you free. We'll have a catch up some other time, hm?"

"Absolutely," Alan assures her, "Probably when all of this is finally over, knowing my luck."

"Well, you just take care of yourself, hm?" Alan nods as he walks away, "I'll see you tomorrow, probably."

"See you then!" Alan calls, slipping out the door with Eric behind him.

Alan pretends to wipe his brow, "Just managed to escape," He jokes, "Where to now?"

Eric looks down at Alan, "Zacharias, if he's in."

~*~

**Date: 8th June, 1987**   
**Time: 8:26am**   
**Location: Grungy backstreet, Soho, London**   
**Temperature: Definitely not denim-appropriate, but anarchy stops for nothing, apparently.**

"Hey, I live pretty close to here," Alan announces as they pull up to the side of the street, pointing at a looming block of flats in the distance, "Just down there."

Eric frowns, "We're looking for fifteen, right?"

Alan nods, pulling out his notepad, "Just there."

"Great, get out the car."

Eric knocks firmly on the door, and Alan turns around, seeing prying neighbours slowly begin to teem into the street, staring at the two, shamelessly staring at them.

"Can I help you?" Alan demands at one man, who had been staring at him for a few seconds too long from his doorway.

The man gestures his cigarette towards Alan, "You queer?"

Alan stares at him like he's a complete moron, "Can you not read?"

Eric puts a hand on Alan's back, gently scooting him forward and away from the man, and to his relief, the door swings open- a tall, thin man smoking leans on the doorframe, wearing only a white shirt and his underwear. He has stubble growing, and his curly black hair looks unbrushed and unwashed. His black eyes look tired, the dark circles standing out against his pale skin, "What do you want?" He moans, his voice low.

"I'm Eric Slingby, a private investigator," He introduces, holding out his hand. The other man looks at his hand, then looks at Eric, almost glaring at him. Eric puts his hand back in his pocket, "Is Zacharias Welch here? We'd like to ask him some questions."

He seems to realise all at once what's going on, moving out of the doorway, "Yeah, come on in," He says breathily, "Sorry about the state I'm in, just..."

Eric ducks to get through the doorway, "Don't worry about it," He assures him, observing the mess strewn across the floor and the strange smell of burning plastic, following Zacharias into the living room, "You don't mind my journalist friend being here, do you?"

Zacharias looks down at Alan, eyes wide, "Don't put my name in it."

Alan perches on the edge of the sofa, "Sure." He mumbles, and it's quite clear to Eric that Alan really doesn't like him.

"If you would sit down, please, Mr. Welch." Eric gestures to the other sofa as Alan pulls out a notebook.

"Yeah, sure," He mumbles, sitting down, "I- I don't have... any tea, or anything..."

Eric smiles, caring, "That's fine, Mr. Welch," He says graciously, but he's honestly unable to tell if he's a nervous wreck because he's grieving, or because he knows he's done something wrong, "Do you know why we're here?"

Zacharias nods. Alan glances at Eric from the side, raising a thick eyebrow.

Eric takes out a photo of the victim, "Could you identify this woman for us, please? She's been giving us a bit of grief." Eric asks, and realises his mistake after seeing Alan stop writing to cringe out of the corner of his eye. He prays to god that Zacharias didn't notice, or if he did, was just too scared of Alan to say anything.

He can't help but feel like Alan is all of his fear-factor nowadays. Maybe he needs his own cool jacket with a bi pin instead.

Zacharias bites his lip as he leans over to see the photo, tapping his feet against the floor, "Her name is Natasha Turnplax- she is- well, was- my girlfriend..."

Eric nods, "Would you happen to know if she had a sister called Angelina Dallas?"

Zacharias shakes his head, "I never really knew much about her life before me... she kind of wanted to keep it a secret, you know...? I thought maybe something bad had happened."

Alan stops writing, looking alert, "Do you know her address?"

Zacharias shakes his head again.

" _Shit_."

Eric waves a dismissive hand, "We'll be able to track her down," He assures him, "Did anything ever seem strange to you leading up to Natasha's death? Do you think this may have been a suicide?"

Zacharias bites his nails, "I don't know... I don't know at all..." He muses, "She always had a lot of bruises, she never really explained them to me- but, see, we were never quite... healthy, you know? She didn't really ever tell me much at all... Very secretive..."

Alan jots that down, sighing, "So, you know none of her family, where she lived, or even if she was suicidal?" He says, almost accusing.

Eric puts a warning hand on his shoulder, "It doesn't matter," He says, looking at Zacharias, but almost certainly talking to Alan, "It's good enough that we have a name. You wouldn't happen to know if she actually lived in London, or in a village around it?"

Zacharias sighs, "No idea... I don't think she came from a good background, in all honesty..."

Eric smiles kindly at Zacharias, standing up, and Alan follows, "Thank you for your help," He says genuinely, "If we need you again, we'll try to call in advance."

Zacharias scribbles down his number, handing it to Eric, "Sure... I'll try and be more helpful next time..."

"No need," Eric assures him, opening the door. Alan slips out without so much as a goodbye, "You've been very helpful. Hopefully we won't have to see you again."

Eric gets in the car, where Alan's still scribbling, "I hope you don't make a habit of taking me to drug dens on the regular." Alan mumbles, brow furrowed in concentration.

Eric rolls his eyes, starting the car "It wasn't that bad."

Alan raises his eyebrows, "He was fucking high as a kite- hell, I bet the neighbours were all looking because they though he was our dealer."

"Stop whining," Eric insists, "We got some good info. Do you want me to drop you off at home, or do you want to come to the police station to find out who Natasha Turnplax is?"

"I'll come to the police station, why not," Alan shrugs, "But I really doubt that's her real name, from what he said."

"Absolutely," He agrees, "She's either a drug addict or in an abusive situation, from what he was saying. Maybe both."

"Probably both."

"Y'think?"

"Mm-hm," Alan presses, "She's getting abused, she finds some swish new heroin chic boyfriend, and hops on the drug train with him to cope. It happens all the time."

Eric nods, "It's definitely a possibility," He acknowledges, "But right now, we need to track down Natasha Turnplax, or whatever her name actually is. How many missed calls do you think I'll have waiting for me at home from Spears?"

Alan laughs, "A solid six," He says decidedly as they pull up, "You should ask him now."

Eric shakes his head, "I like head in the direction it's facing," He jokes, getting out the car with Alan, "You ready to find out who Natasha Turnplax is?"

Alan grins, straightening his jacket, "More than ready.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally everyone has been tested me today im exhausted 


	6. The Hunt For Natasha Turnplax, Or Whatever She May Go By Now

**Date: 8th June, 1987**   
**Time: 9:49**   
**Location: Racism Central (the police station)**   
**Temperature: take the goddamn denim off, for Christ's sake**

"There's no such person as Natasha Turnplax." William announces, flopping unceremoniously into his chair, sliding some papers in Eric's vague direction.

"As expected." Alan comments, raising his eyebrows, "Her fingerprints were unidentifiable, I hardly think she's on any kind of database."

"Welch was more or less useless, I assume, then?" William asks, looking drained.

Eric frowns, "Not totally," He admits, "I mean, he was fucking soaring, but what we squeezed out of him was half decent- she's completely avoided the subject of family with him, always covered in bruises, and apparently just didn't exist before she met him, as far as he's been told, bless him."

William nods, "So we need Dallas back in to find out who the hell this woman actually is?"

"Mm-hm."

"Christ's sake."

"Thing is though," Alan begins, "We still need to figure out who called. I'm putting my money on Welch."

Eric nods, "Same," He agrees, "But we'll have to pull him in here if we want to question him again."

William shakes his head, "That's no big thing, it's more squeezing it out of Dallas- why would she lie about not knowing her?"

"I don't think she had a good family life," Alan puts forward, "I mean, she didn't want to talk about it, and if Angelina isn't even willing to say that she's related to her, that doesn't really show a good family life."

"I think the better thing to analyse," William announces, "Is whether we suspect Welch, Dallas, or suicide more."

"-Welch-" "-Dallas-" "-Suicide."

William stares blankly, yet vaguely judging, at Alan, "If I'm not mistaken, you're the only person without a history in criminology here."

Or, what he means is, 'That wasn't a question for you to answer.'

"Criminology is the study of crime," Alan replies in that flat tone that Eric knows is a joke, but William definitely doesn't, "Suicide isn't a crime. I don't need criminology to think that it was suicide."

Eric represses a giggle- Snarky little bastard.

William sucks his cheeks in a little, sighing, "Right you are, Humphries," He says eventually, and Eric is almost certain that he's repressing a laugh, too, "Slingby, I haven't met Welch yet, so I'll trust your judgement. Am I right in thinking that you're not working these next two days?"

"Yeah," Eric confirms, "Neither's Alan."

"Lovely," William says dryly, "We can give Dallas a two day notice, maybe it will make her a bit more co-operative."

Eric splutters a laugh, and Alan remains silent.

"Anyway," William continues, unfazed, "We'll arrange for about four o'clock, is that good for everyone?"

"I mean, unless I need a history in criminology to tell the time." Alan monotones dryly, looking at his nails.

Eric wheezes, his withheld laughter already a lost cause before he even tries, resting his arm on the desk.

William barely looks bothered, just sighing irritably, "I'll see you on the eleventh."

~*~

**Date: 11th June, 1987**   
**Time: 3:46pm**   
**Location: Grimy apartment complex, Soho, London**   
**Temperature: Disgustingly humid**

Eric waits in the car, not actually able to see out the window because of the rain, but when he sees a vague black mass moving towards the car, he knows to roll down the window, starting the car.

"Al- fucking hell, what happened to you?"

Alan rolls his eyes, "Let me in the car and I'll tell you."

Eric unlocks the door, Alan throwing himself unceremoniously onto the passenger seat, looking sour. He's even worse up close- bruising all along his right cheekbone, his lip cut, and his knuckles bruised. He's wearing different glasses to normal, and his normal black clothing and denim jacket had been rejected in favour of the same black jeans, a pastel pink shirt and a black leather jacket. It's more than clear what he's been doing, but the sudden protective urge washing over Eric sends him into interrogation mode.

"You been fighting?" He demands, beginning to drive, and Alan sighs.

"No, I got all this from sleeping in a weird position." Alan snaps, clearly not in any sort of mood to deal with... well, anything.

Eric sighs, speaking more gently, "What did you get in a fight over?"

Alan shrugs, then winces, "Some asshole decked me from behind- Me and Ron had been on the sesh, we were coming home- well, I got knocked on the floor, they bust my glasses and ran off."

Eric feels a strange wave of mixed anger and protectiveness, "I mean, you ain't gotta be a detective to figure out why that happened," He mumbles thoughtlessly, looking for painkillers in the glovebox, but hearing Alan give a weak laugh- then sharp inhale- at his accidental joke makes his chest feel a little warm, "You got yourself looked over at hospital?"

Alan shakes his head, "I've had worse," He says as assurance, but Eric isn't exactly comforted, "Anyway, Ronnie's cooking has healing properties, and they don't offer it on the NHS."

"I mean," Eric hands him the painkillers, "As long as you're okay- and you never see that bastard again, or he's fucked."

Alan looks at his bruised knuckles, raising his eyebrows and frowning, "I would say I took care of that on scene."

Eric laughs, "Good," He congratulates, "Maybe it'll intimidate Dallas into telling the truth for once."

Alan sighs at the mention of Angelina, looking morose, "I feel bad for her," He states, "I mean, she's obviously had some issues at home, and now her sister's dead..."

Eric parks the car, "And she's making my job ten times harder. I don't suppose you have an umbrella?"

"No chance," Alan says breezily, pulling his jacket over his head as he gets out the car, "Hurry up."

Eric laughs, walking at a rushed pace with Alan next to him, "You look like a Russian grandma."

Alan rolls his eyes, playing around, "I'm Vietnamese-British, that's no where near Russia; Get your shit together, Slingby."

Eric feels warm in his chest- he loves that Alan feels comfortable enough to mess around with him like that. He pushes the door open, "Get in, then, if you're that worried about getting wet."

Alan slips in, giving his jacket a little shake to get the rain off as Eric goes up to speak to the receptionist, "Me again," Me says to her, "Spears is expecting us."

The receptionist looks over the top of her glasses at Alan, glancing at his bruises and cut lip, "Did you find out who did it?"

Eric restrains laughter, "Nah, he's helping me out."

The receptionist raises an eyebrow, "Well, you know where to go, boys. The boss knows you're coming up."

Eric strides through the door, Alan slipping next to him- William looks half dead; sickly, thin, and altogether quite impressively unhealthy.

"Dallas will be joining us soon," He mumbles, apparently not even aware of Alan's state, "Sit down, both of you."

Eric frowns sympathetically, "Hard day?"

"Abysmal," William replies dryly, "Thanks for asking."

The door swings open, and Angelina is led in by two other police officers, "Sit down, Miss Dallas," William encourages, "Hopefully, this won't take long."

Angelica throws herself into the chair, looking sullen, "It's not like I have anything to be doing."

William ignores her, "We ran tests on your hair, and they showed a striking resemblance to that of the victim- would you care to explain this?"

Angelina pauses for a moment, looking at the floor, "Fine, I lied when I said I've never seen her before. That was my sister."

Alan smiles smugly, and Eric continues, "We met a man called Zacharias Welch the other day, he claimed to be your sister's boyfriend. He said that she didn't really ever talk about her life before meeting Welch. Do you have an explanation for this?"

Angelina takes a shaky breath, and Alan immediately looks concerned, pulling a pack of tissues out his pocket. Angelina takes the packet, giving him a weak, grateful smile, "A few years ago," She begins, her voice trembling, "She fell out with our dad, and he kicked her out... I haven't seen her since."

William nods, "Welch told us her name was Natasha Turnplax, but we discovered that no one under that name exists. We need to know her real name."

"Her maiden name was Juliet Dallas," She says, vulnerable, "But she married since then, so I'm not sure anymore. I don't know about anyone called Zacharias Welch."

Alan does the same smug smile right at Eric, and he tries his best to ignore him, "Do you know her husband or his whereabouts?"

Angelina shakes her head, her red hair swaying with her, "That's what her and my dad fell out over."

Eric glances down at Alan's notepad, and thinks to himself that maybe these notes aren't just for the papers.

William waves a dismissive hand, "It doesn't matter, we should be able to track him down either way." He assures him, and then turns to look at Alan, "Good god, Humphries, what the hell happened to you?"

"What hasn't happened to me?" He responds vaguely, still scribbling fervently.

William shakes his head, "So, when Welch ordered these items of clothing from you, you had no idea they were for your sister?"

"None at all," Angelina replies, sniffling just a little too dramatically, "I mean, it was clear that Welch was- well, you know," She mumbles, "But I had no idea my sister had gotten so low in life-"

"Sweetie, it's the eighties, everyone's on crack." Alan says bluntly, clearly seeing through her act.

The corners of William's mouth twitch, "And Welch's drug abuse doesn't come into the fact that you have lied to the police, I'm afraid." He announces, "I'll see you in court next, I expect. Fiona, if you will."

The woman that guided her in- assumedly, Fiona, escorts her back out, remaining as stoic as she had been for the whole interrogation.

Alan wrinkles his nose, "You were right not to like her." He comments.

Eric nods, his black curls bobbing slightly, "What a fake bitch."

William shrugs, "I don't think I can comment on it, legally," He says, "But I won't condemn you. I'll get to work tracking Juliet, or Natasha, or whatever the hell you want to call her... you're free to leave..."

Alan and Eric leave side by side, Alan pocketing his notebook, "You don't mind giving me a ride home, right?"

Eric shakes his head, "Well, you'd be screwed if I said no, wouldn't you?" He jokes as they walk out the police station and Eric unlocks the car, already feeling less than fantastic with the heat and the rain, "Get in."

Alan slips in, and goes to put his head in his hands, before he presses down on his bruises and flinches, "I don't actually have too much to do tonight," He announces, smiling, "I just need to type this up, maybe get it into the editors office, depending on how early I finish, and then I'm done."

Eric tries to be cynical, but Alan's cheerfulness, however rare, is dangerously infectious, "Well, I'll let you know when Spears has found this woman's husband," Eric assures him, "And then we can carry on doing his job for him."

"I mean," Alan frowns, "You have to be making a hell of a lot of money from this, right? I mean, that kind of was the deal."

Eric shrugs, "It hasn't been a month. I was promised monthly payments."

Alan purses his cut lips, "That seems shady to me."

"Everything seems shady to you."

Alan doesn't have the mental attitude to fight back, he just laughs vaguely.

Eric pulls up outside his dismal block of flats, suddenly feeling quite lonely, "You're gonna be alright, yeah? With all those bruises?"

Alan waves a dismissive hand as he slides out the car, "It's only superficial injury," He assures him, "Thank you, though."

Eric smiles softly, "No problem." He murmurs as Alan walks away from the car.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- having major girl troubles rn but I also just spent £50 on ASOS so everythings alright 
> 
> Anyway here is ur government assigned question: if u could travel to a decade in the past hundred years (ie, 1910's-2000's), which one would it be and why?
> 
> For me it would be the eighties im all abt that rebellious spirit and the fashion and the music slaps tbh


	7. Not A Whole Lot Of Work, But A Whole Lot Of Talking About Work

**Date: 20th June, 1987**   
**Time: 10:02pm**   
**Location: Soho, but on the right side of the class division**   
**Temperature: Your bed in winter**

Eric often walked while he was thinking, especially thinking about his work.

He didn't normally just stroll himself down to Soho and grab a coffee, however. He doesn't actually think he's ever been to Soho, apart from to pick Alan up and drop him off and to question Welch.

Well, there's a first for everything. He's changed a lot since starting this case.

He sighs, taking another sip of his coffee, wishing he'd got something iced- it was too hot for fresh coffee. He thinks to himself about how much he has changed over the course of this month- for a start, he actually pays attention to the newspaper. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he feels a rush of pride when he sees Alan's name where he doesn't expect it, like the politics page or the minor stories in the middle.

And he really doesn't mind journalists so much anymore, either.

Or he might just like ones that have a denim fetish and an attitude problem.

He smirks to himself at that thought- Maybe Alan's starting to rub off on him a bit.

He shakes his head- he's meant to be thinking about work.

He sighs, lighting a cigarette. Maybe he's hit the dead end for this.

Ugh, that's not a nice thought at all.

Maybe he does need Alan for something other than the publicity and comic relief.

And something other than the pretty face- Oh my days, will you stop with the intrusive thoughts?

He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to focus himself- you literally only like him because he's pretty, his snarkiness is going to get on your nerves eventually.

He gives another almighty sigh, touching his hair- it really doesn't matter, once this case is over, he'll probably never even see him again. And maybe that's for the better, in all honesty.

Well, speak of the devil-

"What are you doing our here so late?" Eric asks conversationally.

"Working late," Alan mumbles, "What about you?"

"Thinking about work," He says honestly, "I still have no idea what's going on."

Alan frowns, "Me neither, not entirely," He admits, "I think it's just not being at work as much, it's got you overthinking, you know?"

Eric sighs, "I guess," He says eventually, "I just really want to be back on it- I mean, we haven't really gotten anywhere, in the grand scheme of things."

Alan sighs, "I know," He says gently, "I really do think we've hit it with finding her husband, though- once we get that call off Spears, we'll probably be on the get go."

Eric nods, "I guess," He turns to Alan, smiling, "What are you doing out so late, anyway? Don't you remember what happened last time?"

Alan rolls his eyes, "I was pissed out of my mind then, I think I'll be able to manage tonight," He jokes, "Work's just been horrific, you know? People aren't coming in, so we're all covering everyone's job- I just wanna be back on the crime page, but obviously..."

"Yeah..."

Alan smiles, "You know, I've really missed working with you. I think that we're a pretty good team."

Eric grinned, "You're right there," He agrees, and then teases, "I quite like having a little sous-chef around."

Alan rolls his eyes affectionately, "You're the worst."

Eric shakes his head endearingly, "Do you want a coffee?"

Alan's eyes light up, "Do I hell," He replies, and Eric hands him his abandoned coffee, "Coffee and cigarettes, aren't you cultured?" He teases.

Eric sighs a laugh, "If you want one, you can ask." Alan outstretches a hand, looking pleased as Eric hands him a lighter and a cigarette, "These are absolutely awful for your health, you know."

Alan nods, lighting his own cigarette, "Of course I know that," He says, "I can't afford these, you know, I only really have them with you around."

Eric laughs, "And here I thought you were the bad influence."

Alan takes a drag, sarcastic, "I will have you know that I haven't done a thing wrong in my whole life, I am a model citizen-"

Eric chuckles, "Yeah, yeah," He teases, "You broke the law in my own house once."

"Okay, first of all, I didn't do it actually in your house, I came to your house to tell you about it," Alan insists, "And didn't it help solve a little bit? Hm?"

Eric shakes his head, smirking, "You're a mess."

Alan shrugs, "Maybe so," He replies, and then looks at Eric's watch, "Ah, shit, I need to get going, or Ronnie's gonna give me the third degree again."

Eric laughs, "You okay getting home?"

"Yeah, I just gotta hurry," Alan replies, walking away and waving, "Thanks, it was good seeing you."

God, Eric can't wait until they work together again.

~*~

**Date: 23rd June, 1987**   
**Time: 11:36am**   
**Location: Interrogation Station (try saying all that three times fast)**   
**Temperature: Summer finally hit puberty**

"Before you ask, I've called Humphries, he's on his way."

Well, working with someone for ten years really cements that bond.

Eric sits down in front of William, tired, "What's going on, then?"

"Well, we've not been able to track down Juliet any further than her name- no record of a job, marriage, or anything really, but she does definitely exist," William explains, "Because someone's married to her,"

Eric raises an eyebrow, "Because that checks out."

William nods, "My thoughts exactly," He mumbles, "The only logical explanation that I can think of on the spot is that she's since emigrated, but then how her body ended up in a train station down the motorway is beyond me."

"That idea's pretty far out, anyway," Alan says, walking in with an iced tea, "Vietnam still have all my records from when I was, like, two. How are we all?"

Eric withholds a laugh, pulling out a chair for him, "Pretty good, thanks."

"As I was saying," William continues, "The man who's supposedly married to her is one Robert Hues-Phelps. I'll send you to him in a moment, once his papers get printed."

"See, that makes sense with Welch," Eric muses, "He was saying that she was always really secretive, so it makes sense that she has a husband that no one else knows about."

"Which is exactly what I told you to begin with." Alan points out, coy.

Eric playfully swats at him, "Don't be smug," A woman walks in, carrying a file of documents and handing them to Eric, "Thank you, Maria."

Eric opens up the files, and Alan scoots over to him, shoulder to shoulder, "Hm, a car dealer," Alan comments, leaning his head slightly in Eric's shoulder, "So Juliet's got a bit of a thing for dealers."

Eric giggles, "You really don't know when to stop, hm?" He teases."

William sighs shallowly, "If you two are going to flirt, I'd rather it wasn't over a dead woman."

Eric waves dismissively at him, "I mean, he does just look like your average guy."

Alan sniffs, "I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone."

"I'm pretty sure he's a wife beater." Alan says, taking a sip of his iced tea, "I mean, why else would she be flitting around with her crack addict boyfriend?"

"I would say that wife beater is a bit bold," Eric mumbles, reading through some of the less straightforward things that had lost Alan's interest, "I think boredom is much more common among middle class families these days."

Alan shrugs, "Well, we'll find out soon." He says, "And I still won't have to like him."

Eric shakes his head, grinning, "You're impossible," He teases, and then looks at William, "I do need to sign these?"

William hands him a pen, leaving, "Have Humphries do it, too, since he's been reading over your shoulder. You can go once you've signed, I have a meeting now."

Eric signs his name and then hands it over to Alan, "He's not quite as interesting as Welch."

"Mm, I did guess from the car dealership and the two kids," Alan jokes, signing the confidentiality form, "Thanks for the heads up."

Eric shakes his head, chuckling, "You ready to go?"

Alan stands up, stretching, "I mean, I'd better be."

Eric laughs, opening the door and gesturing through it, "Shall we?"

~*~

**Date: 23rd June, 1987**   
**Time: 12:48**   
**Location: London City Centre**   
**Temperature: Alan is not wearing black. Yes, it's that bad.**

Eric sighs dramatically as he pulls up the car, pulling off a hair tie from his wrist and pulling his hair up, "This is too much."

Alan doesn't stop writing, "Tell me about it," He almost deadpans, "I'm stewing here- What's this guy's name again?"

"Robert Hues-Phelps- I think," Eric mumbles, "You got any of that iced tea left?"

Alan takes off the plastic lid, looking, "Uh, yeah, but it's not too iced anymore," He starts digging around in his messenger bag, "I have water in my bag, my editor gave it to me."

"Tell her she saved our lives." Eric jokes, holding out his hand.

"I already do on a near daily basis," Alan replies cooly, handing him the water. He gestures to the door, mocking Eric from earlier, "Shall we?"

Eric raises an eyebrow, "I suppose we should." He agrees as the leave, "Number 42."

Alan adjusts his glasses, looking- Eric notices that they're the same as his usual, rounded pair, but significantly less worn. He's also glad to note that his lip appears to have healed, and the bruising has gone down quite a bit.

And he's equally glad that he manages to look away before Alan notices that he's staring at the side of his face like a complete stalker.

"Forty two's there," Alan announces, pointing across the road, and they walk across, "First instinct- does the husband have anything to do with it?"

Eric hates it when Alan does this- Alan's intuition is uncannily good, but Eric relies entirely on what he's seen and heard to make a decision.

He used to have a pretty good intuition, but he thinks that maybe the police drove that out of him.

"I'm gonna say yes," Eric chances, "I think it's either him or Welch that called, and either way, he hasn't really offered to help, even though his wife is dead and there's a very well publicised case ongoing. It's definitely suspicious."

Alan rolls his eyes, playful, "That's not your first instinct, there's way too much evidence behind that."

"Shut it," Eric jokes, "What do you think, then?"

"I actually don't think he did," Alan admits, "Unless it was a suicide. In which case, definitely."

Well, the weather definitely hasn't hurt his intuition.

Eric knocks on the door, and a little ginger girl opens it, only about seven, "Hello?"

Eric smiles at the girl- he's always had a soft spot for kids, "Hi, honey, is your dad home?"

She nods, calling for her dad, who appears in the door.

"Robert Hues-Phelps, I hope?"

"Correct." A tall man with dark brown hair replies, "I assume you're here about my wife?"

Eric nods, "Well, you might be in for some nasty surprises, I'm afraid."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Sorry this took like nine years lmao I actually don't have an excuse bc I normally write when I'm ill,, bc im nearly always ill lmao
> 
> Also I just found out that June 1987 in the UK was super cool and wet oops
> 
> Anyway here's ur question! What's in fashion rn where you live? How do you feel about it?
> 
> Rn the 70's are making a comeback in the UK and I love it!


	8. A Really Weird Sleepover, Featuring Ronald

**Date: 23rd June, 1987**   
**Time: 12:47pm**   
**Location: London city centre, average middle class neighbourhood**   
**Temperature: How pasta feels when you put it in the water**

"Come on in, then, boys," Phelps insists, seeming much too cheerful for someone who clearly knows they're about to get questioned as he leads them into the kitchen, "Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?"

"We'll pass," Eric replies dryly, "My name is Eric Slingby, I'm a private investigator working with the police to solve the death of a woman you believe to be your wife."

Robert gestures to Alan, whose mouth looks suspiciously full and hand suspiciously close to a pack of strawberries, "And four eyes here?"

Alan swallows, looking as if he wishes he could glare with all four of his eyes, "I'm a junior reporter for the local newspaper, but I'm also helping him solve this."

Eric has to admire how neatly Alan avoided telling him his name, "I assume you don't mind letting him report this."

Phelps raises an eyebrow, "Go for it."

"Now," Eric begins, pulling up a chair, "Do you know any woman named Natasha Turnplax or Juliet Dallas?"

Robert looks annoyingly confident, "Never a Natasha Turnplax, but I was married to Juliet before she passed away."

Eric wants to shudder at the attitude he has towards his dead wife, and he sees Alan give a heaving, tired sigh and adjust his glasses, "I assume these are her children living with you now?"

"Yeah, all three of them." He replies, "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Yeah, I want something decent to report," Alan replies bluntly, "What were you doing on the night your wife was found dead at a train station outside the city?"

Eric raises an eyebrow- Alan really doesn't fuck around. Which is kind of right the way against Eric's warm up questions technique, but hey, he doesn't really like this guy, either.

"Hm," Phelps' brow burrows in thought, "What night was this?"

Alan gives Eric a very definite look of 'I'm dangerously close to violent assault charges' and he takes over, "She was found in the early morning of the fourth of June," Eric explains, "So let's go back to the night of the third."

Phelps leans on the counter, annoyingly cocky, "Well, I didn't see her all that night, she was out of town- basically abandoned me and the kids, who the hell's meant to take care of the house?"

Eric's head aches in protest of having to hear someone speak about their wife that way, "We spoke to a man named Zacharias Welch a little while ago, he appeared to know your wife very well. He told us that she never spoke of her family and that she often had bruises up her arm, would you care to explain any of this?"

"Well, I've never heard of a Zacharias Welch," Phelps dismisses, flocking his hair back, "And yeah, I might have been responsible for a few of those bruises, but what can you do? It was never anything bad, I never hit her properly-"

"That's not an achievement." Alan cuts, and Eric can see him seething under his cool exterior.

"Hm? And what do you know about women?" Phelps jabs, and Alan looks ready to slap someone, "You're only meant to sit and take notes, I swear, so shut up and write, it'll be good practice for your English."

"Don't you dare speak to anyone like that again." Eric snaps, dangerously quiet, and the room fills with an even greater sense of tension in the silence, "I have every right to arrest you already for suspicion of murder, and you've already admitted to domestic abuse, and I won't hesitate to add racial discrimination to your rapidly growing list."

There's a moment of pause wherein Alan smirks like the smug bastard he is, and Phelps lets out an awkward laugh, "Jesus Christ, learn to take a joke."

Alan immediately falls expressionless, "Yes, I'm positively pissing myself with laughter," He monotones, writing, "What was your wife doing on the days leading up to her death?"

Hues-Phelps shifts in his chair again, posing almost as much as Alan does when he's bored of something, "She was out of town all that week- trying to visit someone, I think, probably old family."

Alan makes the exact same connection that Eric makes, and he knows exactly from the look in his eye, "When was she meant to be coming back from this trip?"

Hues-Phelps' face falls to an expression of almost boredom, "She never said- She barely even told me about her going out. I walked in on her packing a suitcase, and we started fighting, and I'll be the first to admit that things got out of control, you know? I'm not proud of what I've done to Juliet in the past, I'm not doing to sit and deny-"

Alan sighs, rubbing his temples and looking a little pale, "Being honest about beating women doesn't sweep it under the rug, you chicken fried fu-"

"As much as I agree with you, that will get you fired," Eric interrupts dryly, "Phelps, am I right in assuming that your wife didn't have a job?"

He nods.

"Well, how in the hell is she meant to have been travelling?" Eric demands, "If you don't know that she's going, and I'm assuming that she doesn't have much to do with- well, anything, considering that her documents are nowhere to be found."

Phelps shrugs, flicking his hair in that aggravating, overconfident way again, "Maybe she borrowed some, I don't know, I liked to keep her in the house most of the time.

"I'm already putting down robbery, you don't need to ask," Alan drones, "Do you know whereabouts her family lived?"

Phelps shakes his head, and Alan closes his notepad, looking at Eric questioningly.

Eric sighs, "Yeah, we've exhausted this," He announces, "If we need you again, we'll pull you into the police station, but write your number down here." Alan tears off a piece of paper and hands it to him wordlessly.

Phelps scribbles his number down, and Alan takes the paper back without so much as a thank you, "Are we going, then?"

"Come on, then," Eric opens the front door, ushering Alan out, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hues-Phelps."

"What an asshole," Eric mumbles as soon as he shuts the door, "And we've gone backwards, if anything."

"I know," Alan whines, getting in the car, "Maybe we should just go back to mine and try and piece it together a bit? Ronnie could help, he's pretty great at stuff like that."

"Sounds good," Eric agrees, starting the car, "The main problem is that we can't be sure what's true, especially after Dallas- get your feet off my fecking dashboard, Alan- because we don't know if anything else she said is true or not."

Alan huffs, letting his arms fall dramatically as he puts his legs down, "I'm tired and pissed off, I'm basically incapable of anything."

Eric sighs, "Tell me about it," He mumbles in agreement, "I think he's the second worst person I've met in this case, right after-"

Alan suddenly buried his head in his hands, "We didn't even eat, that's why we're so pissed off," He moans, sounding like a man of a broken spirit, "Hopefully Ronnie will get lunch on..."

"I swear, all you think about it food and what you're gonna be pissed off about next." Eric replies, still looking forward.

Alan smirks, and Eric swears he sees him look at him for just slightly too long- and then shoos that out of his mind, because overthinking is for work, damn it, "I think about lots of other things," Alan insists playfully, "Also, uh, the lift isn't working in my flat, so we're gonna have to take the stairs- there's a lot of stairs..."

Eric laughs, "I'll be alright, I'm good with sports and-"

Alan looks rather taken aback, "I was talking about me, I've got EDS- that basically means that my joints dislocate all over the place and sometimes gives me chronic pain for no reason at all."

Eric's heart aches a little, "Shit, that's awful, Al."

Alan shrugs, looking awkward, "I'm just saying that it might take us a while to get up the stairs is all," He carries on, "And I forgot my meds, today, so that doesn't help..."

Eric shakes his head, "How do you forget?" He scolds gently, stopping the car and they both get out.

Alan rolls his eyes, "I was in a rush, leave me alone," He insists, pushing the door to the flats open, "Not all of us can have it together, Slingby. And Ronnie had already left- shit, he's gonna crucify me when I get in..."

Eric laughs, being sure to go behind Alan on the stairs, "Be glad you have friends like that," He says, "Do you want me to take your bag?"

Alan shakes his head, "I'm fine, it's not heavy," He assures him, "We aren't too far up, anyway, just-" He finishes one flight of stairs, his breath slightly heavy, "Another three..."

Eric follows behind, knowing full well that he could have made it there by now, and he feels a horrible sense of guilt and uselessness creeping through him, and the knowledge that Alan's too proud to let him do anything to help isn't calming that feeling much. He's naturally the sort of person that has to help, and not being able to is one of the worst feelings he knows.

Alan turns to him eventually, grinning, "We're here," He announces, "Ronnie should be around, if not, he'll be back soon." He explains, opening the door and walking through to the ,kitchen.

Ronald's sat at the kitchen table writing, and shakes a little bottle of pills, "Guess what you forgot," He chimes, without looking up, "Sit down, I'll put the kettle on- Hi, Eric!"

Eric waves as he sits down, Alan kicking off his Doc Martens and curling up in the corner of the sofa, "I think I've just had the shittiest day of my whole life." Alan announces.

Ronald laughs, making the tea, "It's only the afternoon, mate, it can't have been that bad."

Eric smirks begrudgingly, "It was," He replies, looking around- the apartment is tiny, and there's no getting around that, but it's decorated so that it makes it cosy- the bookcase is full to the brim, and there's two framed news articles on the wall. There's books strewn all over the sitting area, and notebooks and pens littered on the table, and all over the general air of a place writers would live. "I think I've just met the single most arrogant dickhead on planet earth."

Ronald pretends to look confused, carrying three teas and a bottle of pills into the sitting area, "But you've known Alan for weeks?"

Eric laughs, and Alan represses a giggle, taking a cup of tea and the pills, "Careful, you're the freeloader here," He jokes, "Sit down and we'll explain what's happening."

Ronald plops himself cheerfully into a chair, "One thing first," He chimes, looking through his own bag, "Snagged you a new camera today, they just got 'em in at work- it's got autofocus, a viewfinder- basically everything."

Alan whistles lowly, "Modern." He comments, taking the camera and studying it.

"I was thinking about doing a bit of photography to try and get some money saved so I be freeloading anymore-"

"I told you not to worry about it," Alan dismisses kindly, "You cook, I clean, that's the arrangement- I like having you around. What do all these buttons do, anyway?"

Ronald laughs- he has a pleasant, throaty laugh that suits his sunny nature, "I'll show you later, get on with your story."

"Oh, right-" Alan snaps back to reality, "Okay, so this woman- you know the woman- is actually married, right? Which is a bit dodgy, considering that she's meant to be going out with Welch- the drug dealer, that one-"

"And," Eric interrupts, getting a little excited, "We just found out off her husband that she was meant to be travelling to someplace, but where's she got that money? Her husband barely even lets her out the house, so she's not borrowed it, and she hasn't earned it because she doesn't have a job."

Ronald's brow furrows, "Tricky, that is," He mumbles, "How's she met Welch, then?"

Eric shrugs, "We're here to work it all out properly, and then find the next place to work to."

Ronald claps his hands, cackling excitedly, "I'm finally a part of the murder squad!"

Alan raises an eyebrow, "I didn't know this was our name?"

Ronald slides to the floor, sat in front of the coffee table, "Let's get cracking, then!"

Alan pulls out the documents from his messenger bag, "This is-"

Eric waves his hands in front of them urgently, "He can't see those!"

Alan puts them back in his bag, "Never mind." He reverses, and Ronald pulls out a sheet of A3, and Alan nods approvingly, gesturing at Eric to instigate.

Eric grabs a pen from the coffee table, and writes in the middle of the paper 'victim', and then in the corners writes 'sister' and 'husband', "First things first," He begins, looking pensive, "How did she get the money to travel, and where was she going?"

Alan raises an eyebrow, "I think Welch."

"The one that she's having an affair with?" Ronald catches Eric's destitute look, "Oh, shite, am I not meant to know that?"

Eric winces, "No," He whines, "But whatever. Write him down a bit to the side."

Alan writes his name down and then, 'Drug user, having an affair with the victim' underneath at an impressive speed, "It makes sense, drug dealing isn't cheap business."

Eric frowns, "We don't know that he's a drug dealer."

Alan rolls his eyes, "Whatever, it's a possibility."

Ronald points at Angelina's section, "What about her, though?"

Alan raises an eyebrow, "Good idea."

Eric bites his lip, "Yeah, but they aren't in contact."

"And?" Alan presses, "She lied to us in the first questioning, who's to stop her doing it again?"

Eric sighs- He can never really tell if he loves or hates Alan's spirited nature, but goddamn, it makes him feel something, "Fine, put it down," He gives in, "I'll see if I can pull her in for more questioning."

"I don't wanna crash the professionals party," Ronald pipes up, "But have you found out if she was coming back or to wherever she was going?"

Alan frowns, "What weight would that hold, though?"

Ronald shrugs, "I don't know, I just thought of it now."

Eric looks interested, "If we can find out that, we would possibly be able to find out where she was going, though. Someone write that underneath."

Alan writes underneath her title 'was she coming back or going?'- his handwriting, although efficient, is altogether too pretentious and unmistakable- a good description of Alan himself.

Ronald stretches, "I'll do refills, do you want anything to eat? I don't wanna brag, but I'm a domestic goddess-" The phone starts ringing, and Ronald rolls his eyes, "Fuck's sake."

He picks up the phone, and looks at Eric after a couple of moments, pointing the phone away from him and whispering, "Someone called Spears wants to know if your here."

Eric nods, gesturing for Ronald to give him the phone, "Hello?"

"At last," He replies dryly, "I hope I'm not interrupting your little date?"

Eric's eyes almost roll involuntarily, "Not at all, do you have something you want to actually tell me?"

"Ah, yes," William sounds as if he's only just remembered, "They've just found some suitcases that we believe to be Juliet's. We sent them down to Othello to make sure, I'll send you and Humphries down to collect them once they're done."

Eric's brow furrows, "Where'd you find them? He sees Alan perk up.

"They were on the train, they found them just now, they'd been on a while. I'll find out which train it was before you get here, don't worry."

Eric nods, "Thanks, I'll see you there." And puts the phone down.

Alan looks interested, "What was all that about?"

"Spears says that they think they've found some of her suitcases on a train," Eric explains, "They'll tell us when they've finished testing on them."

Alan frowns, "Freaky timing," He comments, "Ronnie, what are you doing?"

Eric looks over at Ronald, who's digging through the cupboards in the kitchen, "Making dinner?"

Alan glances at the clock, looking mildly surprised, "Christ on a bicycle," He mumbles, "You're staying for dinner, right?"

"He is." Ronald replies, only slightly joking.

Eric laughs, "Well, I don't have much of a choice, really."

He sits on the floor with Alan, musing over the many, many possibilities, each and every one getting more and more unlikely as time passes, but increasingly funnier, somehow.

Eric can't really remember when else he's laughed on the job.

Ronald puts dinner on the table, and Eric could have kissed him- Eric can cook, and he knows it, but by god, Ronald can cook. Ronald looks rather accomplished at Eric's reaction, and Alan giggles.

Eric feels at home.

"So," Alan rubs his eye, tired and full of good food, and his glasses perched on his head, "Welch is at the bottom of the list of suspects, but considering our suspects, he's still pretty likely- Phelps is at the top?"

Eric shakes his head, "Angelina, her hair was at the scene."

"Yeah, but it could have came off her clothes, she did make them..."

Eric shrugs, "I don't know, I-"

Alan looks startled at his sudden stop, his black eyes filling with curiosity, "What?"

Eric stands up, pacing, "When did she get that order?"

Alan's brow furrows, and he grabs a newspaper from under the coffee table, pulling his glasses down over his eyes, "The third- Welch collected it on the third, right when she's meant to be out of town-"

"And we know that Phelps isn't lying, because they just found her cases on the train-"

"Unless Phelps planted them, but that's-"

"Very unlikely," Eric finishes, pacing faster and faster, "Write this down. This either means that Welch knew where she was, she was with Welch, or Angelina knows about Welch and she's using him as a cover-up- keep quiet for a moment, I need to make some calls..."

Eric swears he sees Alan smile at him admiringly, but brushes it off- he's got work to do, dammit.

~*~

**Date: 24rd June, 1987**   
**Time: 1:03am**   
**Location: The shittiest, but homiest, flat in Soho**   
**Temperature: Cuddling in winter**

Eric finally puts the phone down, sighing gently- Alan's long since passed out, slumped over the coffee table and snoring ever so softly; the freckled cheek he could see was flushed from sleep, and the other was undoubtedly covered in smudged ink. Eric risks a little smile, his chest tending up. Part of him wants to send Alan to bed, especially now knowing that Alan struggles with pain, but he knows that Alan won't thank him for it.

He pulls a blanket off the sofa, gently putting it over Alan, and wraps himself up in another one, leaning his back against the sofa and falling asleep almost instantly.

He likes having a home, rather than a house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okok you guys are all caught up now!! Sorry for disappearing I’ll try not to do it again lmao
> 
> Idk if I already told you but you can follow my tumblr @lesbian-energies for regular Content (shitposting) and you can always shoot me an ask there!! I dont mind answering questions you have abt the story or the characters even if they’re lighthearted ones like their favourite foods!! I’m just abt that Audience Interaction u know


	9. 9- I know it’s pathetic, but that was the best night of my life

**Date: 28th June, 1987**   
**Time: 2:41pm**   
**Location: William's Office**   
**Temperature: A Greenhouse In Hell**

"I'm sure you'll be glad to know that I decided to spare you the trip to Othello's," William begins, sliding over a stack of stapled papers, "These suitcases are almost definitely Dallas's, just so you know."

"Nice," Alan replies breezily, "What's in them?"

"Nothing particularly spectacular," William monotones, "Clothes, money, the like. She was planning to stay a while, whatever was going on."

Eric nods, "Running away, maybe?"

"Possible," Alan comments, "I mean, I would."

"Anyway," William cuts in, impatient, "Since we know where she was going, the most logical step is for you two to go there and ask around- it's a small place, people have to had seen her."

Eric raises an eyebrow, "Okay, sure, but can we get the suitcases?"

"Of course," William replies, "They're in the cupboard."

Alan follows Eric into the tiny room in the corner, coughing a little at the dust, "I wanna see what's inside, I'm curious now..."

Eric sits on the floor, barely fitting, being so tall, and Alan fits snuggly beside him, hugging his knees as Eric opens the case, "Yep. Pretty fucking boring." Eric confirms.

Alan whistles lowly, "That's a lot of money, though..."

"It's all counted for, so don't even think about it."

"I wasn't!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eric teases, thoroughly enjoying how easy it is to rub Alan the wrong way, despite how prickly he looks, "You looking forward to our little adventure, anyway?"

Alan wrinkles his freckled nose, "I mean, we're going to the same place she was found right?" Eric nods, "I've been before, and honest to God, it's so fucking freaky- even the people are weirdos."

"I mean," Eric pulls out his pack of cigarettes, considering lighting one, "I work with murderers, I've met some weirdos in my time."

Alan shrugs, "If you think you so," He says breezily, easing himself off the floor, "So what's the plan? Ask around to find out what the hell was going on just before she died?"

"More or less," Eric replies, following Alan out, "Spears, when are we going to Strangetown?"

William raises an eyebrow, "As soon as possible, really," He replies, practical as ever. Alan cleaning the dust on his glasses off with his shirt, "I'd pack for a week at the most, you shouldn't be there long."

Alan cringes, his nose creasing again- god, it's cute when he does that, "My house is gonna be a tip, Ronnie can't clean properly..."

Eric frowns, "Can he dog-sit for me?"

Alan grins, "Yeah, he loves dogs."

William clears his throat, "If you two are quite finished planning your weekend getaway," He cuts, "I have your papers- Slingby, if you can try and figure out how long she was there and what she was doing at what time, that would be great."

"Fine by me," Eric chirps, "We also want to figure out Welch's involvement with this whole thing, so that'll be on the side, too?"

William smiles- well, it could be a smile, by all accounts, his mouth did move, "You're starting to enjoy yourself again," He comments dryly, "I always knew you shouldn't have left."

Eric shrugs, grinning, "What can I say? Having someone young and spirited around is keeping me motivated," He teases, and Alan playfully taps his arm, "Who said I was talking about you, specky?"

Alan rolls his eyes, holding in laughter, "Watch it, or I won't turn up next week."

Eric laughs, "Like hell."

William's mouth twitches.

It's nice to see Eric back in spirits, and it's even nicer to see why.

~*~

**Date: 30th June, 1987**   
**Time: 6:36pm**   
**Location: London Train Station**   
**Temperature: Crammed shoulder to shoulder with some business man who looks ready to kill**

Alan's incredibly easy to spot in a crowd of middle aged white men in suits.

Eric glances at his bags- just his normal messenger bag and a rucksack, "Travelling light?"

"I ain't got much to take, have I?" He replies, carrying his rucksack on his back as he walks towards Eric, "When's the train here?"

Eric shrugs, "Couple of minutes," He assures him, "You cut it kinda short."

Alan rolls his eyes and readjusts his bag, their train pulling into the station, "I got here, I don't see the problem."

Eric gives him an affectionate prod forward onto the train, "Stop being difficult," He teases, "I need to put up with you for God knows how long."

Alan scoffs, "You love me really," He insists, grabbing a seat, and Eric tries his best to ignore that feeling in his stomach, "Also, I brought my new camera..." he pushes up his glasses, "I don't really know how to work it properly, though..."

Eric laughs, "Christ, don't ask me," He replies, "I just want to be in and out of this place as soon as possible."

"Same," Alan replies flatly, "I have some memory of getting absolutely shitfaced and going home with some guy I don't know the-"

Eric rolls his eyes, feeling oddly jealous, "You have the self-control of a spatula, I swear to god," Eric cuts, gracefully failing to mention his checkered past with all kinds of women. Alan's dark brows furrow, looking somewhere between hurt and angry, and Eric moves on, "I need you to take lots of names and info today- like, basically everything. We don't know what's valuable yet."

Alan grins, competitive, "Of course," He says, jokingly cocky, "What, you think I can't do my job?"

"Well, I do wonder sometimes,"   
Eric mumbles, teasing, earning a playful slap on the arm from Alan, "I'm thinking that the first thing we do is check into a hotel."

Alan nods, "Yeah, there's not a chance in hell I'm carrying this bleeding typewriter around with me all day," He mumbles, "Christ, I should have just been a social worker like they told me on careers day..."

Eric splutters, "You? A social worker?" He exclaims, completely unable to hide his disbelief.

"I know," Alan laughs, "I bloody needed a social worker when I was sixteen, not to become one."

Eric shakes his head, "I mean, we all know that school career recommendations are bollocks," He says, "I think you're pretty amazing where you are."

Alan positively glows, his black eyes shining from behind his glasses as he grins, "Really?" He exclaims, his happiness almost childlike, and Eric's heart softens at that implication of insecurity.

Eric grins right back at him, "Of course," He assures him, "You know how to tell a good story."

Alan's smile for the rest of the journey put stars to shame.

~*~

**Date: 30th June, 1987**   
**Time: 8:47pm**   
**Location: Some miserable village near London**   
**Temperature: humid rain, because god has abandoned us**

Alan sighs, stretching as he gets of the train behind Eric, "Right- I'm thinking we check in at the hotel, and then get a recommendation of where to go off them."

"Sounds solid," Eric agrees, "Do you know where there's a hotel?"

"I think..." Alan replies, taking a lead, "It doesn't look great, but nothing does around here."

Eric would normally roll his eyes, but Alan's definitely right- what the hell kind of town has an empty train station almost all the time?

Alan leads him past the old-fashioned stone buildings, the sound of his boots echoing along the empty streets, and the light rain darkening the skies with moody, grey clouds, but the afternoon sun still shining through.

"Well," He announces unceremoniously, coming to a stop outside some shabby building with just a sign hanging from the wall that said 'hotel', "It's better than nothing."

Eric pushes the door open, a bell tinkling, "Hello?"

A receptionist looks up, looking rather pissed off at someone having the audacity to walk into the hotel, "Yes?"

Eric smiles cheerfully, walking across the dark wooden floor, the sunlight and shadows of the windowpanes falling on his and Alan's back, "Twin room?" He glances at Alan, "Preferably not up too many stairs."

"No, it's-"

The receptionist raises an eyebrow, "Sure," She mumbles, "It's up the first exit on the stairs." She hands Eric a pack of tea-lights. "The lights flickers and the door squeaks."

Alan raises his eyebrows, inhaling, "Sounds great," He quips, "I won't dislocate my hip walking up the stairs, but the ghost in my room might have the manners to do it for me himself."

Eric rolls his eyes, "If you wanted me to carry your bags, you could just ask."

Alan sighs, slowly handing Eric his messenger bag, "As if this typewriter didn't already make me suicidal."

Eric tuts affectionately, prodding Alan in the back to walk up the stairs, "Drama queen," He scolds lovingly as they walk up the stairs in near blackness, each and every one creaking loudly, "See? Asking for help really isn't so bad, hm?"

It's too dark to tell, but Eric can just tell by the kind of person that Alan is that he's flipping him off.

Alan unlocks the door, turning on the lights, "Well, she wasn't lying about the lights or the door."

Eric follows behind, ducking to avoid the doorframe, "Christ, she really wasn't," He breathes, "Well, this is quite a... quaint little room."

Alan wrinkles his nose, sitting on the bed closest to the window, "You can say that again," He mumbles as the bed groans, and he looks around at the pitifully sized room, with its black and white TV and tiny chest of draws. He sighs, taking his messenger bag from Eric and walking over to the suspiciously dusty desk to put it down.

A roll of thunder can be heard outside, and they both give each other a look.

"We're not going anywhere."

"Fantastic."

Eric kneels on the floor in front of the TV cabinet, looking for something to watch, "Well," He begins, pulling out a few VHS boxes, "There's Calamity Jane, Creature From The Black Lagoon, or I Love Lucy."

Alan wrinkles his nose, "I don't know, everything from the fifties sucks dick."

Eric's better judgement decides not to point out that he was born in the fifties as he puts in the I Love Lucy tape. Alan shrugs off his jacket, sighing and pulling a notebook and pen out from his bag.

"What are you writing, short stuff?" Eric asks, confused, "We didn't even do anything yet."

Alan gives an almighty sigh, sounding as if he's got the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, "I have a couple of extra articles to do for next week," He explains, "So if I get that out the way first, then-"

Eric sighs affectionately, gently taking the notebook out of his hands and putting it on the bed next to him, "Forget it," He says softly, "You've got plenty of time."

Eric looks up, realising just how close he is to Alan- so, so, close, Alan's black, soulful eyes nervously curious, having noticed too, his rosy, anxiously bitten lips on the verge of words that don't exist yet to say what he wants to say.

How, oh how, can a man who guards his soul so ferociously look like a song when his walls fall down?

Maybe that's just the charm of the moment.

In that moment, they may well have been one mind in two bodies.

And close.

Dangerously close.

The thunder rumbles, and the TV chatters.

Eric pulls away, and Alan's eyes falter.

He grabs his notebook, his soul heavy.

"I have to write.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaooo I hope yall like slow burn bc im putting this bitch on low heat to simmer 


	10. 10- Flirt Wars

**Date: 1st July, 1987**   
**Time: 7:36am**   
**Location: Top Ten Most Haunted Places In England (number 3 will shock you)**   
**Temperature: Hell's sauna**   


"Rise and shine, sunshine, we've got mysteries to solve and stories to write!" 

Eric cracks open an eyelid, completely bemused- the last thing he wanted- or expected, for that matter- to see after last night was a freshly showered Alan, wearing nothing but high waisted black jeans and looking for a shirt, his hair soaking wet. 

"And why, in god's name, are you so happy?" Eric mumbles, sitting up and grabbing his bag, looking for a shirt of his own.

"I'm not," Alan says cuttingly, pushing his dripping fringe back "I just thought the shock of it all would wake you up faster."

Eric rolls his eyes, "Well, congrats, you did it," He says, his voice husky with sleep, thanking god that Alan appears to have either gotten over or completely forgotten about last night as he throws on a shirt, "Are you gonna put something on?"

Alan smirks, "Do you want me to?"

Oh.

Now he sees what he's doing.

Well, Eric can do that too, and he can do it a hell of a lot better than Alan, he bets, "You better, since you're planning on going out- I'm not having anyone else looking."

Alan tries, and fails, to swallow a blush, completely taken aback- Alan's cunning, but Eric's bright, and he'll be damned if he's not fighting back, "Stop twatting around, we need to work," Alan scathes, putting on a shirt and throwing on his leather jacket, suddenly as cynical as ever, "You know, you completely forgot to ask the receptionist about Juliet- that's our first stop." He throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, adjusting his glasses, and his hair falls in front of his face as he walks out the door, Eric following.

"'Scuse us," Eric announces himself as they appear in the reception, "My name is Eric Slingby, I'm a private investigator, and we need to ask you some questions."

The receptionist looks up at him, either judging or bored, it's hard to tell, "Ain't nothing go on here."

Eric raises his eyebrows, "You'd be surprised, my darling," And he hears Alan give a distinct 'ugh' from behind him, and he smirks in satisfaction, "I don't suppose you saw a woman around this town around the beginning of this month, did you? Light ginger hair, quite pale and thin- her name was Juliet Dallas?"

The receptionist shakes her head, "I told you, ain't nothing happen here- you're better off asking around near the centre of town, with all the shops and whatnot, they see every fucking thing."

Alan's brow furrows, "Are there any other hotels around here?"

The receptionist shrugs, "A few, but they get about the same amount of customers as I do- so that's fuck all.” 

Alan nods, writing that down, "We'll be sure to check in at them," He mumbles, "Are we ready to go?"

Eric nods, leaving, "Thanks for you help, my dear." 

The receptionist remains firmly indifferent as the door shuts behind them, Eric opening an umbrella.

"Shit, we haven't got a car anymore..." Alan mumbles as Eric lights a cigarette, "Oh, give us one..." 

Eric raises an eyebrow, taking a drag, "I'm gonna pass, specks."

Alan's brow furrows, "What? Why?"

Eric frowns, "These things are bad for you, y'know?" He explains, "And since you're hell-bent in making me feel all kinds of ways about you, the least I can do is make sure you take care of yourself." 

Alan scowls, "Bastard." 

"There's the Alan I know!"

Alan rolls his eyes, "Anyway," He begins, acting like nothing happened, "What I was thinking back there was that if she didn't stay in a hotel, and no one saw her, maybe she had a place to stay already, like a house or something? Someone she knew lived here? I mean, she already didn't leave the house, so..." 

Eric nods, "Absolutely possible," He agrees, "Good thinking- are we making a stop in here?"

Alan shrugs, "You're the boss, you tell me."

Eric rolls his eyes, pushing the door open, a bell tinkling, "Hello?" He announces, and a plump, middle aged woman smiles at him from behind the counter.

Alan looks around him, "Oh, lovely, an antique shop," He scathes, "Just where every young woman wants to stop when she's running away from her abusive husband, I'm sure, Eric."

The woman behind the counter looks beyond confused, "Can I help you?"

Alan remains completely expressionless, folding his arms and glancing at Eric, who grins at the woman, "Hi, I'm Eric Slingby- I'm a private investigator, as we think this village was one of the last places the victim was seen- can you help us out?"

The woman behind the counter looks blankly at Alan, "And why's newest member of Joy Division here?"

Alan raises an eyebrow, "Thanks, but Joy Division broke up seven years ago," He says dryly, and Eric holds back a laugh, "I'm a just a journalist, unfortunately."

Eric shakes his head affectionately, "You wouldn't happen to know a Juliet Dallas- or a Natasha Turnplax? Light ginger hair, pale and thin-"

The woman behind the counter furrows her brow, "Come to think of it, I think I did," Alan's entire face lights up like the night sky and she turns to talk to him, "She was wandering around town with a taller guy- dark hair and eyes, quite thin- you know, he looked a bit like yourself, but, well, you see... he was... Well, a bit more..."

 "-Tall?"

"-White? -Hey, what the hell?"

Eric cackles, "Bless- you're fun-sized, yeah?"

Alan gracefully ignores him, looking through his bag, but his face is suspiciously pink, "Did he look anything like this?" He asks, showing her a Polaroid of Welch.

She nods, "Yep, that's him," She confirms, "He looks like some weird kind of model..."

Eric leans on the counter, "When did you see these around town?"

She frowns, "The... 31st of May, I think?" 

Alan raises an eyebrow as he writes, and Eric carries on questioning her, "Did you see them again after that?"

She shakes her head, "Her and her fella- they had these bags with 'em, looked like they were just coming in from elsewhere." 

Alan scowls at his notebook, "This timeframe is absolutely fucking tiny," He mumbles to no one in particular, "Can I get your name?"

"Jenny Madigan," She replies, and her face shows a hint of fear, "You... You don't think that Welch kid did it, do you?"

Alan raises an eyebrow, looking stoic, but Eric can see the compassion behind his eyes, "He is a suspect, but he's our last suspect," Alan replies, "Why do you ask?" 

"Just..." Jenny sighs, "We ended up stopping and talking for a bit, you know, like you would, and he seemed like a nice young man... the thought of having brushed shoulders with someone like that is scary, you know?"

Eric nods, "Of course it is, love," He says comfortingly, "Don't worry yourself about it."

Alan shrugs, "Personally, I think he's nowt to do with it," He says bluntly, "The man barely looks like he could find his arse with both hands. Are we on our way?"

Eric holds back a laugh, "Sure, I think we're done," He says, a smile still playing at his lips, "Thanks for your time, miss Madigan."

Alan leaves, stretching his arms as his boots his the cobblestone, "This is pissing me off." He announces, pushing his glasses on top of his head.

Eric sighs, "Everything pisses you off, you're gonna have to be more specific."

"This whole bloody thing!" He exclaims, "She's arriving here on one day, four days later she's getting herself a nice little outfit, and on the next day she's brown bread! The fuck is up with her?"

Eric shakes his head affectionately, "Calm down, it's all coming together." 

Alan sighs, running his hand through his hair, "I don't have the brains for this," He mumbles, "I'll just leave you to the work, I'll be the visual..."

Eric smirks, "Pretty and confident? Nice." 

Alan rolls his eyes, but his blush betrays him, "I swear to god, you're trying to make me quit..." he mumbles, "So what are your thoughts on this, if you're so smart?"

Eric grins, "You wanna get breakfast somewhere, and I'll tell you there?"

Alan raises an eyebrow, with a signature smirk, "Depends, are you gonna flirt with me some more there?"

Eric looks him in the eye, copying Alan's smirk from the hotel, "Do you want me to?"

~*~

 

**Date: 1st July, 1987**

**Time: 9:12am**

**Location: Breakfast at Tiffany's- no, really, this place is called Tiffany's**

**Temperature: The sweet, sweet salvation of air conditioning**

 

Alan nibbles on a tiny piece of pancake, "So, come on then," He prompts, "What's your big idea now, then?"

Eric sips a coffee, "Well, I have a few, but two that make the most sense so far;" He explains, "The first is that Welch helped Juliet to run away from home, but it doesn't go as planned- I'm inclined to say that Angelina might have snitched to Phelps on the third when Welch made that order- which is what makes this huge rush. And think about when we went to Welch's- it didn't really look like he'd been in a while, right?" 

Alan nods, "That's pretty solid," He compliments, "What's the second?" 

Eric muses for a moment, "I was also thinking that maybe Welch was in on some kind of plan to murder her, which is why he brought her here," He sees the look on Alan's face, "But I've warmed up to him quite a bit, so I'm headed more for the first idea." 

Alan smirks, "Pretty and smart? Nice." 

Eric swats at him playfully, "You started this, you can't steal my lines." 

Alan leans on the table, resting his head in his hands and grinning, "You did it to me."

Eric copies him, leaning in even further, taking great satisfaction in the glint in Alan's eyes, "Maybe I did," He teases, "But you didn't say anything about it."

Alan licks his lips, smirking, "Well, I'm saying something now," He almost whispers, "What if- What the hell are you doing here?"

Eric jolts up to look at where Alan's looking, "Welch- what you doing here, kid?" He asks conversationally, but the shock is clear on his face.

Zacharias looks at them like a deer in the headlights, his long, thin arms shaking as he holds onto a coffee- his shaking could have something to do with the look Alan's giving him, "You're- the guys that turned up at my house, right?" He asks, smiling weakly, "How are things going with your case?"

Eric smiles back at him encouragingly, "Slow, but it's better than nothing," He replies, "You're looking better, kid."

Technically speaking, it's true- it's hard to get much lower than he was. He still looks deathly thin and pale, his eyes still sunken, but at least he's in a state where he can go out into public. 

Zacharias looks delighted at the compliment, "Thanks, man- I'm almost a month clean! So I thought I'd come back here- me and Tasha used to come a lot, I've been feeling kinda down lately...” 

Eric gives him a genuine smile, "That's amazing, man, congrats! Sit down with us, we've got time."

Zacharias shakes his head, his eyes still perpetually nervous, and Eric swears he hears Alan give a relieved sigh, "I can't, I've got placed to be- thanks though..."

"No problem," Eric replies, waving as he leaves, "Have a good one!"

Alan wrinkles his nose, "I still say there's something up with him." He insists, sipping his coffee.

"Nothing to do with the fact that I like a man who looks like you but friendlier?"

"Shut up." 

 

**A/N- I should have called this chapter 'these two men somehow manage to turn their mutual attraction into a battle of masculinity' lmao**

 

**I'm on break rn so I got this up rly quickly lmao I'm impressed w myself!**

**Anyway ur question today- how do u feel abt Zacharias?? Do u agree more w Alan or Eric or do u have ur own ideas??**


	11. 11- I wouldn’t mind this for another few forevers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing I’ll explain at the end but I think y’all will like this one ;))

**Date: 1st July, 1987**  
**Time: 22:47pm**  
**Location: Room 002, shittiest hotel in England**  
**Temperature: In all reality, not that hot, but its England and everyone's dressed like the 80's.**

 

"Yo, you gotta get up, our train's in an hour." 

Alan doesn't even look like he considered moving, and Eric can't even see his face, "Shut up."

Eric folds his arms, looking bemused at the lump under the duvet, "I'm not trying to be funny, but it takes you fifteen minutes to decide what shirt you wanna wear, you really don't have time for this."

Alan finally stretches, two ashy, thin arms emerging from underneath the covers, "Don't be jealous just because I even dress better than you to go to sleep," He mumbles, swinging his long, boyish legs onto the floor to sit on the bed, running his fingers through his hair, "What time is it?" 

Eric looks at his watch, "Eight."

Alan scowls, walking into the bathroom, "This is pissing scandalous," He announces, climbing on the side of the bath to turn on the shower, "Stop laughing." 

Eric holds his hand over his mouth, but his eyes are still laughing, "You could just ask for help." 

Alan doesn't even dignify that with a response, slamming the bathroom door.

Eric giggles to himself affectionately, shaking his head- he'd more or less already pinned Alan down to not be a morning person, but he's just so easy to brush the wrong way that it's irresistible. But all that being said, he does like Alan (interpret that how you will), and he does feel bad that he can give him so much grief. 

Eric shakes his head, trying to snap out of it- No point catching feelings for someone who's so emotionally tangled- if that's how you'd even describe Alan, he's really damn complex when you get down to it, and he's just seemed off very recently.

Alan emerges as if called, his hair wet and fully dressed, but there's something wrong with the look on his face, "Well," He announces, throwing on his denim jacket, seemingly in higher spirits now that he's woken up properly, "On y va?"

Something about Alan speaking French really doesn't sit well with Eric, and not in the way the suspicious way. He brushes it off, acting nonchalant, "Vas-y."

Alan opens the door for Eric, "Who knows, hopefully this will be the last time we have to stay some place that's either haunted or a demon summoning spot, but probably both."

Eric just laughs, but secretly keeps to himself that he really wouldn't mind this for another few forevers.

~*~

**Date: 1st July, 1987**

**Time: 9:57**

**Location: Local train station, empty**

**Temperature: Even the rain is absolutely taking the piss with this whole 'summer' thing**

"I absolutely fucking hate this train station. 

"You've told me a million times."

"It's always fucking-"

"Empty, I know," Eric drones, pulling out his Marlboro, "Just absorb the aesthetic, or whatever the hell it is you pretty boys do nowadays."

Alan leans against the wall, folding his arms and miserably kicking a puddle with his Doc Martens, his expression just as grey as his surroundings, "You're in full Brooding Detective mood this morning, huh," He mumbles, looking down, "Nothing up?"

Eric rolls his eyes, lighting his cigarette, "See, I hate this about you," He announces, taking his cigarette out his mouth to gesticulate with it, and the rain immediately puts it out, "You always act like you don't give a fuck about anyone else, but you do, you're actually so kind and compassionate, and I really don't see why you'd act like you weren't?” 

Alan frowns, shrugging, "I don't know," He mumbles, looking vaguely embarrassed, busting himself with wiping the raindrops off his glasses, "What's with the sudden review, anyway?" 

Eric takes a drag, "Because you're right, I am in Brooding Detective mode."

"I ain't got any whiskey."

"Makes a change.” 

Alan raises an eyebrow, "You've got through five of those packs this weekend, don't lecture me about my health." 

Eric rolls his eyes, "You got through half of each packet, aren't you old enough to buy your own smokes yet?"

Alan smiles vaguely, looking at the floor, "You need to let this go, being bitter doesn't suit you."

Eric looks at Alan, his petite frame looking irritatingly model-esque as he leans against the wall, and his lips look way too fucking good in a smile for him to do it so rarely, "I'd say it doesn't suit you either, but it's not that, it's just that being being this sweet suits you better.” 

Alan's shining eyes meet Eric's, catching him staring, but he doesn't feel at all embarrassed; in fact, he's almost glad of it, it feels like it's finally the right moment for something to happen- whatever something is, Eric really doesn't feel in control of himself, he just submits himself to whatever feels right.

Alan smiles again, his eyes creasing ,"You're so fucking annoying and cute when you're like that."

Eric almost melts at the sight of Alan's smiling eyes- it's definite, he doesn't have any control over himself anymore, every part of his fate and decision making is completely owned by this weirdo who he met at half five over a dead body.

Thank god for journalism.

And as if god can hear his praises, Alan's lips are on his.

Or maybe his are on Alan's- well, it really doesn't matter, considering that he's completely let fate lead him into this, and goddamn, fate led him into something soft and utterly fucking divine.

Alan pulls away, slightly breathless, and Eric just absorbs the sight of him blushing and breathless, his hair dripping, "Do you always kiss people after they call you annoying?” 

Eric smirks, "That's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said to me after a kiss.” 

Alan giggles, seemingly on a complete high, as the clouds get darker and the rain gets harder, and there's a distant rumble of thunder, "You've lightened up."

Eric flips his soaked hair out his face, smirking.

"But of course."

~*~

**Date: 1st July, 1987**

**Time: 9:57**

**Location: London train station**

**Temperature: About the same as the political climate- unpredictable and intense, but whatever happens, everyone's gonna hate it**

Alan stretches, stepping off the train, "Finally..." He mumbles, "My back fucking k- Ronnie?” 

Eric snaps his head to where Alan's looking, and sure enough, the man is there on the flesh, looking as if he's chugged five coffees and then ran a marathon.

Not that it would be out of character for him. 

Ronnie looks to be on the verge of tears as e runs towards them, almost tackling Alan into a hug, an Eric feels a tiny twinge of jealousy, "What the fuck have you been doing, the phone's been off it's fucking tits all weekend, I've been balls deep in a panic attack since Saturday afternoon-" 

"Ah, Slingby," William seemingly appears from nowhere, walking calmly towards him, "We've had some slight complications."

Alan rubs his temples, "I leave for two fucking days..."

Eric starts growing antsy, "Are you going to tell us what's actually going on?"

Spears adjusts his glasses, "I'll explain on the way there-" 

"You've got a fecking stalker, Al!" Ronald wails, and Eric's beginning to understand what he means by 'balls deep in a panic attack' as Alan pats his back, looking too drained to really care.

William sighs shallowly, "He can't come, by the way. It's confidential."

Alan looks even more pissed off than he normally does whenever William talks to him, "You better be willing to drop him off at home, then, there's no way in hell I'm letting him drive like this."

William sighs, "Whatever, I suppose I'll explain what's going on superficially on the way there," He thinks aloud, "Get in the car."

Alan and Ronald pile into the back, while Eric takes the front seat- he's really not sure how he's meant to process and understand whatever the hell's going on now when he still has to discuss with Alan what exactly their relationship is, and get over the fact that Oh my god, I kissed a boy, but hey, Eric's always considered himself adaptable.

"Now then," William begins, "Humphries. Someone has found yours and Knox's phone number, and has been trying to get through damn near incessantly all weekend. Knox, did you pick up at any point?” 

"Uh, the first time," Ronald replies, starting to calm down, "They just asked if Al was in. Said he weren't, and they hung up."

Alan rolled his eyes, "It's probably just the guy from last week trying to hunt me down for round two because he got decked by a drunk gay guy."

"A charming sentiment, Humphries," William replies stiffly as Eric gives a quiet giggle, "But completely impossible. Unless, of course, you're running an investigation and report on this juvenile fight you got in?” 

Alan sinks in his seat, arms folded and sucking his cheeks in, "Tightass." He mumbles.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." William replies neatly, "Anyway, since this person has left you around fifty voicemails begging that you and Slingby stop investigating and reporting. I've called Miss Sutcliff-"

"How do you know my editor?"

"I have access to all your documents, Humphries- If I were anyone else, it would be stalking." Alan makes a distinct 'tch' noise, "As I was saying, I called your editor, if she wants to call off your report then that's her decision-" 

"What?!"

Spears grits his teeth in a rare moment of impatience, "For the love of god, Slingby, I know you're attached but wIll you let me speak for two minutes?" Ronald gives a forced, awkward laugh, noticing the blush creeping up to Alan's freckled cheeks, "As I was saying, we need to track the call, as it's clearly someone who has something to do with it."

"How are we going to-"

"We'll theorise later, we need to drop him off first."

"My name is Ronald."

Eric smirks. Ronald’s learned that off Alan, and he recognises immediately.

William raises an eyebrow, "That's nice." He says dryly, "We're here, I believe. Don't answer your phone."

Ronald nods, leaving, and turns to Alan, "Can't fucking believe you got yourself in with a stalker a month into your first dodgy case," He teases, "And you told me I wasn't safe with safety scissors."

Alan rolls his eyes fondly, "Love you too."

Ronald walks into the apartment, and Eric begins his point again, "There's no way we'll be able to track that call," He insists, "No one would be stupid enough to do it from their home landline."

William nods, starting the car again, "I completely agree," He replies, "But it does give us a good idea of their area in general."

Alan bites his nails, "How am I meant to know if I'm still reporting if I can't use the phone?"

"Ask her face to face," William insists, "What do you think we did before phones?"

Alan rolls his eyes, "I'm not a fucking kid." He insists, "I think it's perfectly understandable I'm worried about my job."

Eric's heart aches at the notion of ending all work with Alan, "Do you and Ronald want some place else to stay while this blows over? I have space..." Eric trails off, conflicted emotions in his heart as he remembers the train station.” 

Alan looks at the floor, "I'll ask Ronnie about it." He mumbles. 

William raises an eyebrow, beginning to catch on, "I already have the information I need," He says, choosing to ignore it, "We just need to take it back to the station. You two can tell me everything you found out while we were out there, I assume?"

Eric nods, wrapped in thought, "I guess."

William really isn't the only person he needs to talk to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lateness! I've been having a few physical and mental health issues lately so ive been p busy but I'll hopefully be getting some meds to fix me up on Wednesday! It's just that the funding for healthcare here is shit so it took a month to get jackshit done abt my health so feeling physically shitty made me p depressed bc I couldn't do much lmao 
> 
> Anyway how do we feel abt the ~developments~? Alan's finally softening up into the sweet lil boy we know he secretly is I love him sm 
> 
> And for this chapters question- which character do you like the most?? Why??
> 
> My obvious fav is Alan for Obvious Reasons but I think my underrated fav in this fic is probably Ronald?? He's just a lil ray of sunshine that wants to take care of his disabled best friend and cook him some good food and now he's been dragged into some huge conspiracy by accident but he isn't annoyed or angry he's just worried abt his best friend,, need me a freak like that


	12. 12- Theories Of Love And Murder, Although Not Together

**Date: 1st July, 1987**  
**Time: 11:12**  
**Location: Stress Central (William's office)**  
**Temperature: The air-con is the only thing keeping everyone sane right now. Though I use the term 'sane' loosely.**

Eric looks across at Alan, who's still biting his nails. They're right next to each other, but he feels miles and miles away, his black eyes staring right through the floor. William had left a couple of minutes ago to collect some papers, and Eric had been looking forward to clearing things up with Alan, but it's clearly not the time. He looks completely destitute.

He sees Alan shiver at the air-con, pulling his leather jacket around himself.

"I can get you a towel if you want one," Eric offers gently, "The weather's crazy these days."

Alan shakes his head, staying silent.

God, this is kinda scary.

Eric leans down a little, getting to Alan's level, "You okay?" He asks softly, almost a whisper.

Alan finally takes his nails out his mouth, "I worked so damn hard to get into crime reporting," He says finally, clear as day, "And if I have to stop this now, I really don't know if I'm gonna be able to carry on." He wrinkles his nose, "I might have to go back to _politics_."

Eric laughs quietly, unsure if he should take Alan's hand or not, "It'll work out, I promise," He says, trying to be comforting, "You know we'll stay in touch whatever happens."

Alan seems at least a little happier, but it's clear that the focus of his worry is his career, "I know, but... I don't want this to be for nothing, you know?"

"I know, I know," Eric sighs, "Talk to your editor about it, Al, she'll have the answers."

Alan sighs, searching through his messenger bag for something, "I guess," He says, resigned as he pulls out a pack of Parma Violets, "Want one?"

Eric laughs, "Go ahead." He agrees.

Alan reads his affectionately confused expression, "They're for emotional emergencies," He explains, starting to smile himself, "I have Jazzies in here too, but they're Ronnie's."

Eric shakes his head affectionately, "Prepared for everything, clearly."

Alan stays silent, putting another Parma Violet in his mouth, "I really like you, you know." He announces after a few moments, still looking at the floor, "Like, seriously. It fucked me up."

Eric stares at him, completely vulnerable, his dark eyes wide and mouth very slightly open as he desperately tries to find the right words- hell, any words- to say. It's not even for lack of words to say- God, he's got _plenty_ , it's just trying to form them into something _meaningful_.

William spares him the trouble for better or for worse, walking back in with papers under his arm, "Gentlemen." He greets curtly, "I assume you found something on your honeymoon?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, that..." Eric mumbles, coming to his senses, "I, uh..."

Alan takes over, pulling his notebook out his bag and flipping through it. Eric can't help but notice with a hint of affection that Alan's to-do lists- well, what he assumes to be to-do lists- are written in Vietnamese.

He has to keep from openly shaking his head at himself. Why is _everything_ he does so cute now? Get a _grip_.

Alan adjusts his glasses, "Well, we found out that they were definitely in that town before the murder," Alan announces, reading out of his notebook, "They arrived on the 31st it May, apparently. We actually saw him while we were there, he was looking... tastefully unstable-"

"Been taking lessons off you?" Alan swats at Eric playfully as Eric giggles, "I actually got thinking, you remember we found her bags on the train? We can easily assume that Welch did it, left the body on the station and then left on the train with her bags."

William nods, "That's certainly a possibility," He agrees, "But you can't forget Dallas."

Alan nods, "She's dead sus."

Eric puts his elbows on the table, invested enough to not see the look of total adoration that Alan gives him with a dumb smile, "See, the other thing is that it doesn't make sense for them to arrive on the 31st, and for Welch to then be taking her back four days later, or for them to be collecting this dress off Dallas midway through their little getaway, I don't care how high off crack you are, anyone can see that's gonna look well suspicious. Everyone said they looked like they were in a rush, so I'm also thinking that they've ran off together, and someone- probably either Dallas or Phelps- tracks them back down so they need to get out, but they catch up too soon and then she's done."

"Again, a sound theory," William replies, "Consider this- What if this whole thing with the dress is a scheme? I don't see any other reason for Dallas and Welch to be in contact, unless they meet under the guise of collecting it so that they can clarify their plans."

Eric's brow furrowed, "That seems like they would want something out of it, though-"

"Life insurance!" Alan bursts out, snapping his fingers, "Which would probably also get Phelps into that as well."

William clears his throat, "Either way, we can't prove anything just yet," He points out, "I'll send you two back to Welch's as soon as I can, I'll let you know when it will be. You two can make your way back home- Humphries, I'll make sure that call gets traced as soon as possible."

"That's gotta be someone of a high-profile, if they don't want it reporting."

William nods, "Noted," He replies stiffly, "Good afternoon."

Alan stretches as the door shuts behind him, and Eric tries his damn hardest not to look at his shirt rises up a little, "Are we actually getting somewhere now?"

"Hopefully," Eric replies, "Don't get your hopes up."

Alan muses a little, "Remember when you said that this shouldn't take too long?"

Eric grimaces, "Yep."

"Mm, fuck that."

Eric gives a breathy, adorably bashful laugh, not really sure if he should- or can- ask Alan exactly what their relationship means to him. It seemed so easy just an hour ago, and he's always been a straightforward person in relationships, but then he can't remember ever feeling quite so delirious, or so head over heels, or so elated by the sight of someone, that maybe he was never as straightforward as he thought he was in love.

He gives in, turning to Alan "What even is... this?"

He almost wants to slap himself for his stumbling over words yet again, especially in front of the man who's told him before that he thinks that he's smart, but Alan doesn't seem to even notice, looking that the floor as he thinks.

"I don't know," He announces eventually, "What do you want?"

Eric's eyebrows raise all on their own as he tries to grab at words to say- he asked because he wanted Alan to make the decision for him- Alan's meant to be the decisive one of them, and now he chooses to play the passive role? Sure, Eric _knows_ what he wants, but he doesn't want to _say_ it, he was _relying_ on Alan.

Eric takes a deep breath, working through his mini-crisis- maybe Alan is relying on him in the same way? He almost wants to drag his hands down his face, making a mental note to self- _gay people are completely useless at any and all forms of romance._

Eric regains his composure, thanking God that he's too dark to blush. He shrugs, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, "I mean, you said it, specs," He says, trying to play it cool, "I like you a lot. So, I mean, if you wanna... well, you know..." Eric can feel his act deflating even faster than his confidence.

Alan giggles, stretching up on his toes and holding his face in his hands, "Sure." He smiles, giving a sweet little kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, you missed," Eric somehow manages to not stammer that, despite the overwhelming heat gathering in his cheeks, "Try again."

Alan taps him on the nose, grinning, "You get what you're given, this isn't the fucking food bank."

Eric raises an eyebrow, "Who said romance is dead?" He jokes, "I'm guessing you want me to drop you off at home?"

"You could stop for lunch if you wanted."

Eric shakes his head, curls bouncing, "I have work to do, short-stuff," He replies, "Don't you?"

Alan rolls his eyes, pushing the door open, "A ton," He answers, "So guess who's doing another all-nighter?"

Eric rolls his eyes, “You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself.”

Alan waves a dismissive hand, “Sure, sure, when I have time.”

Eric shakes his head affectionately, getting in the car.

“You’re a mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssksjjsjs we all know that the gays have been useless since the 80s and that is coming from a certified Useless Lesbian
> 
> Anyway sorry this is a little shorter than normal I’ve had a looooot going on I’ll try to do better in the future :( Also if u don’t like these kinds of chapters I promise it will be Back to Business next chapter!
> 
> Anyway apologies aside this has suddenly got a bit more attention and I just want to say a huge thank u for all ur lovely comments! They encourage me to work hard and put in maximum effort! I’m always so astonished that ppl are enjoying some weird idea I had when I was watching buzzfeed unsolved lmao but all ur comments make me smile so big whether they’re long and thought out or little and funny!
> 
> Also my tumblr @lesbian-energies is always open for any questions I have if it’s abt me, my book, the characters or just anything u wanna tell me! I love interacting w my audience im a performer at heart lmao
> 
> Speaking of here’s ur question!! If u had to live w one of the characters, who would it be and why?
> 
> Probably an unpopular opinion here but im going for grell for no other reason than she’s pretty and im gay


	13. 13- Getting Somewhere, But Only In Theory

**Date: 3rd July, 1987**   
**Time: 8:41am**   
**Location: Very same grimy Soho apartment, but much more familiar and friendly**   
**Temperature: Hot, but you have a fan following you around so you feel kinda like a movie character.**

"Hey, it's Eric, can you let me in?"

Eric's finger lingers a little on the intercom button, not fully knowing how these work- he hasn't been to too many apartments in his life.

"Oh, sure thing, man," He doesn't even know Ronald's voice that well, he can just assume by the time that it's not Alan, "I'll unlock the door for you, you know where you're going."

"Thanks, man," Eric replies, leaving to check the lift- still broken. He frowns as he walks up the stairs, wondering how the hell Alan does this nearly every day, remembering how much he struggled when Eric was with him.

Eric shakes his head. They've _gotta_ do something about that lift.

Eric knocks on their door tentatively, unsure of whether or not Ronald might have gone back to sleep, but he's welcomed with a cheery, "Come on in, mate, make yourself at home!" 

Eric's brow furrows as he wonders how the hell Alan and Ronald are such good friends as he opens the door, stepping inside, "Sorry it's so early- I would have called, but I figured you'd have unplugged your phone by now..." He glances over at the coffee table where the phone is- one of them has definetly lost their temper with it, and he can put money on who.

Ronald waves a hand dismissively, taking a frying pan off the hob, "Don't worry, man, you're always welcome," He assures him, turning to face him with a huge grin, "Breakfast?"

Eric's eyebrows raise at the sudden hospitality, "Are you sure there's enough-"

"There's always enough for one more person!" Ronald insists, getting out another plate and putting on generous amounts of scrambled eggs as he puts another slice of bread in the toaster, "His lordship should be up shortly- assuming you're seeing him."

Eric nods, sitting at the table, "They couldn't track that call, but we got a bit more questioning to do."

Eric’s gotten into the habit of looking around his surroundings in people’s houses, but he really doesn’t feel the need to here- even doing it now, he doesn’t feel like he can learn much more about Alan as a person than he already does- Alan is far from simplistic, and that’s a fact, but he has a way of presenting himself as he is, though still without actively trying to hide anything.

"Ah, right," Ronald says, grabbing the toast the moment it comes out the toaster, "Butter?"

"Please," Eric replies, "I'm really sorry it's so early-"

"Don't worry, mate, honestly," Ronald insists, putting his plate in front of him and sitting opposite him, "I'm an early bird, innit- up at six and all that, y'know."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you how it's bad to list your flaws?" A very tired voice mumbles as Alan emerges from behind the door, rubbing an eye with one hand, the other holding onto the sleeve of his jumper that's a little too big for him. He's very clearly just gotten out of bed- his curly black hair is soft as ever, but flat at the back, and he's wearing a black jumper and grey underwear, his glasses lopsided and his eyes heavy.

Eric stares at him a little too long- Sure, it's different to how he normally looks, but by hell, it's not a _bad_ different. A little jarring, but lord- just _look_ at him, it's like he plans these things specifically to catch Eric at his most vulnerable and make him the most flustered and awkward person in planet earth. 

Alan looks up at him, meeting his stare, and Eric fervently stabs a chunk of scrambled egg with his fork as though it singlehandedly brought this situation to fruition, "Christ alive, Humphries, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards." He blurts before he can stop himself, feeling his face get warm and his chest get even warmer. 

"Love you, too," He croaks, taking his plate off the counter with a pill organiser, "Thanks, Ronnie..."

Ronald smiles up at him, "How'd you sleep?"

Alan shakes his head, "My shoulder dislocated out of nowhere at like... half two?" He sits down, readjusting his glasses with one hand, "I took some morphine and yeah... here we are."

Eric looks totally stunned, "Didn't you go to hospital?"

Alan attempts to shrug with one shoulder, "I can handle it on my own, it's not like it's going out any more," He mumbles, starting to make his way through his pills, "Why are you in our house again?" 

"Oh, that," Eric laughs, "We have another round of questioning for Welch."

Alan rolls his eyes, "I thought we were done with him."

Eric shrugs, "Yeah, and then we found out he'd been galavanting with Dallas days before her death."

 Alan sighs, "Fucking... Yeah, I guess," He gives in, "Lemme just get dressed-"

" _Eat_." Eric and Ronald both insist at the same time, Ronald continuing as he points at his plate, "For someone who hates wasting food, you sure do it a lot, Al- you know breakfast is-"

"The most important meal of the day-"

"And it-"

"Wakes up your metabolism, yes, I _know_ , Ronnie, you tell me every morning," Alan replies, not fully able to restrain a smile, taking a forkful, "Thank you. It's good."

Ronald grins, satisfied, "That's what I'm here for."

 

~*~

 

**Date: 3rd July, 1987**

**Time: 10:21**

**Location: quite possibly the hottest Peugeot in England**

**Temperature: only The Pina Colada Song could get you through this. And even then, it takes some willpower.**

"Right," Alan begins as they pull up, frowning at his notebook, and turning down the radio, "So we need to look at why he's running from town to town."

"Yep," Eric confirms, "And what his relation is with Dallas, if any."

Alan quirks a brow, "But he already said that he didn't know, he's not gonna go back on himself-"

 "You'd be amazed," Eric replies, "Now let's _go_ , I think I'm gonna melt."

 Alan gives a weak laugh as they walk up to the front of the house, Eric knocking on the door.

No answer.

He frowns, going to knock again, but Alan puts his hand on top of Eric's, stopping him and shushing him, leaning towards the door. Eric copies, frowning.

Oh, he's _definitely_ in. 

Alan presses his ear to the door, frowning, "He's on the phone- arguing, I think," He mumbles, "I just don't know what _about_ , though... or with who..." 

Eric tries the handle, "It's not locked, we could just-" Eric catches Alan studying an open window, " _No_."

"I wasn't going to!" Alan insists, still whispering, "I was just gonna climb on the ledge and listen through-"

"You dislocated your shoulder not even twelve hours ago!"

Alan rolls his eyes, "Just shut up, then, we'll listen in." He hisses, settling to sit on the window ledge instead.

"...I don't know what happened, _I_ didn't drag them in- Of course I want my money, that's why I'm doing this- No, you're not _listening_ -"

Alan looks back at Eric, dark brows furrowed, "Is this about drug dealing or murder?" He whispers. 

Eric shrugs, "I don't think we're gonna found out much this way."

"...I didn't _ask_ to get dragged into all of this; you know, if anything, this is _your_ fault, I didn't _ask_ to be skint, I didn't-"

Alan bites his lip, nodding, "Knock again- loud." 

Eric knocks firmly on the door and Alan walks over to stand next to him, and they can clearly hear Welch scrambling to get to the door, opening it, "Oh, thank God, it's just you..."

Eric raises an eyebrow, "Alright, I guess. Not the normal reaction people have to investigators," He says, "We're here for another questioning."

Zacharias nods, still breathless as he leads them both through the hallway, "Yeah, the, uh- Spears? Yeah, he told me the other day... make yourselves comfortable, it's a bit of a mess..." he sits in a chair opposite the sofa.

Alan perched on the edge of the sofa, crossing his legs and looking highly uncomfortable about the situation, "Thank you."

"So," Eric begins, "We heard you were of town with Juliet just before her death."

Zacharias nods, looking at the floor, "She said that she was in a bit of trouble, so we went away for a bit." 

Alan looks up, twirling his pen in his hand while his other arm rests on the sofa arm, "Did you pay for her?" He quizzes, and Eric gives him a look- he _really_ doesn't want to have to be the one to tell Zacharias that his girlfriend has a husband.

"Yeah, she was skint," Zacharias replies, "It wasn't going to be a long term thing, just until it blew over, y'know?"

Eric nods, cutting to the chase, "Look, I need you to be honest- Angelina Dallas. You collected a delivery off her the day before her body was found, we're assuming you were still out of town at this point."

"Yeah, she had it ordered before we left, I ran back and collected it for her."

Alan lowers his brows, questioning, "When exactly did you come back?"

Welch shifts in his chair, crossing his legs, "That afternoon," He replies, "We were supposed to stay longer, but she suddenly said we needed to go."

Alan looks suspicious, but doesn't say anything, "Back to the delivery, though," Eric presses, "Do you know Angelina Dallas, yes or no?"

"I mean, not really, but-"

"Yes or no?"

“Well, yes, but I didn’t know the relevance-” 

Alan flips back in his notebook, “We asked you if you knew if she had a sister called Angelina Dallas, and you said no, why didn’t you say you knew her?” He demands, agitated.

“Because-”

“Drop it,” Eric says, waving a dismissive hand, “Where did Juliet go after you got back?” 

“She went back to her house,” Zacharias replies, and Eric cringes slightly- he has a feeling Alan might be the one that eventually breaks it to him, “I didn’t see her past that evening.” 

Alan raises an eyebrow, “And nothing seemed off?”

Zacharias gives him a dark look, “Well, yeah, she was fucking running from town to town, weren’t she?” 

Alan’s eyes narrow and he gives a smile and looks as if he’s sucked on a lemon, “Of course,” He says sourly, still smiling sarcastically, “Anything that could have, you know, _led_ to that?” Eric puts a cautionary hand on Alan’s knee.

“I don’t know, I told you,” Zacharias insists, “She was well secretive, nothing ever really seemed right.” 

Alan rolls his eyes, and Eric ruminates a while, sighing, “Well, are you done?” He asks Alan, leaning forward. 

Alan stretches, “Well, I guess we’ve exhausted this.” He admits, “You ready to go?” 

Eric stands up, smiling at Welch, “Thank you for helping,” He says as Welch shows them to the door, and he hears Alan scoff under his breath, “We might be back, I don’t know.”

Zacharias shuts the door, and Alan sighs, “I know he’s lying about something,” He announces as he walks back to the car, “I just don’t know what.”

Eric nods, “I’m fairly sure it’s the time frame,” He says, getting in the car, “I’m fairly sure it was him that called, and he was with her when she got done in- It’s just _proving_ that-”

Alan frowns, “Just ask him up front,” He says, “It’ll catch him off guard, we’d be able to tell if he was lying.” 

Eric shrugs, “Well, there’s always next time,” He sighs, taking Alan’s hand, and he feels him give it a gentle squeeze, “Tell you one thing, though, I think we’re getting somewhere.”

Alan gives a dejected laugh, “How so?”

“Well, why’d he lie?” Eric insists, “He’d have something to cover up.” 

Alan sighs, “I guess.”

Eric raises an eyebrow, turning to Alan, “What’s up, specs?” He asks, reading his tone. 

“I’m meeting my editor today,” He mumbles, “I’m gonna find out if I’m still working on this.” 

Eric put a hand in Alan’s hair, and Alan rests his head on his shoulder, “It’ll be fine,” He assures him, “Whatever happens, you can still stick around-” 

“It’s not _about_ that, though,” Alan explains, sounding tired, “I’m gonna have other stuff to work on if I can’t do this, I’ll be too busy- hell, I might not ever get back into crime reporting again-”

The crack in Alan’s voice startles Eric, taking Alan by the shoulders, “Hey, hey, hey,” He says softly, Alan’s gaze dropping to the floor, “C’mon, short stuff, I know it sucks, but whatever happens, you’ve still got a job, right? You-” Alan sniffles a little, “Are you _crying_ right now?”

“No.” Alan insists, his voice cracking, tears spilling out of his black eyes.

Eric almost crumples, pulling Alan in for a hug, careful of his left arm, “Come on, specs, you’ll set me off now.” He mumbles against Alan’s hair, gently rocking back and forth. 

“I’m sorry- it’s been a hard day-” Alan sobs, pulling away, and wiping his watery eyes, “I just worked really hard, and- I don’t want it to be for nothing- I feel like it would let everyone down so much- Ronnie’s always been cheering me on, too...” He gives a pathetic, teary laugh, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve, “And I’ve been in agony since half two, so that’s fun... sorry, it’s just been an emotional day...”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Eric assures him, trying to hide how flustered he’s getting at the urge he has to comfort him as well as he can, “Do you wanna go home? We can stop for food if you want- do you want food?” 

Alan shakes his head, laughing weakly, “It’s, like, half eleven,” He points out, and smiles, “Thank you.” He says, slightly quieter.

Eric thanks god once again that he can’t blush, and realises that he does that way too often nowadays, “Don’t worry about it,” Eric insists, “Okay? Look at me- Specs, look at me.” He clicks his fingers at him. 

Alan gives in, turning to Eric and grinning reluctantly at his antics, “What?” 

“Everything’s going to be fine. Okay?”

“Okay.” Alan smiles, giving Eric a chaste kiss, “If you say so.”

“You need a kip when you get in, too, you look like you’ve been risen from the dead and you’re still hungover from the welcome party.” 

“Love you too.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- I love my sarcastic lil boys please believe me when I say I’m sorry for making Alan cry
> 
> Also can I get a hoyeah for actually moving the story along this chapter skjjfh sorry abt the last few chapters being kinda drippy AND I also uploaded even tho i didn’t think I’d make it for this weekend!!! Anyway gnight everyone!!


	14. 14- Hang In There, Short Stuff

**Date: 3rd July, 1987**   
**Time: 22:47**   
**Location: Not quite hell, but the aesthetic is close.**   
**Temperature: Do you seriously think a shitty little journalism office can afford air-con? Really?**

 

"Alan, you're not leaving right?"

Alan turns to Ronald behind him as he pulls his bag on his shoulder, "I mean,  I just have to see Sutcliff, but I'm going home after that," He explains, "Why? Do you want me to order food?"

"Yeah, that too, now you mention it," Ronald agrees, handing Alan a sheets of paper, sounding exhausted "But can you take these down with you? I'm a mile behind- Also, I need to borrow your stapler, someone nicked mine- well, yours, again..."

Alan shakes his head, "You half-inched my last one," He says, "Give them here, I'll run them down for you."

Ronald pulls Alan into a back-breaking hug as Alan tries desperately to squirm free, "You're an absolute legend, Al," He promises, "I'll try and be home before half eleven. Good luck!"

"Thanks, I have a feeling I might need it," Alan mumbles, "If you're not done by half eleven just bring it home and I'll help you."

Ronald smiles, but his brows furrow, "You already have a lot of work- and she'll be able to tell."

Alan shrugs, "It's her job to make sure no one else can tell, we're helping her make a living," He insists, "Now get working."

Ronald smiles again, walking away, "Thanks, Al!"

Alan bites his lip, putting Ronald's papers in his bag, and holding his own to his chest as he slowly makes his way down the stairs- he's not entirely sure if his body is going to let this happen, or even if he should have gone to work today, but it's too late for that now, either way.

Alan sits a few steps down, his body screaming out at him, "Take it easy, Al." Ronald calls from the other side of the room, and Alan thanks god that the office is empty apart for them.

 _God_ , he hates stairs.

He eventually makes it down, tucking his inhaler back into his bag and collapsing in a chair outside Grell's office, willing away his pain- he's done okay most of this week, but it had flared up pretty bad today, along with his arm dislocating...

Alan just sighs, pushing his hair back- tomorrow will be better. Whatever happens, tomorrow will be better because he _said_ _so_.

"Humphries, is that you I hear lamenting outside my office?"

Alan gives a weak, polite laugh, "Maybe so."

"Well, come in when you're finished," Grell prompts through the wall, "Or should I come to you?"

Alan knows she's joking, but he's incredibly tempted to ask her to, "Yeah, I'm coming..."

Alan pushes open the door, and Grell looks up from whatever she's reading, peering over her red plastic frames, "Good god, kid, you look like you've been through hell and back," She exclaims, "Sit down, remind me why you're here."

Alan smiles politely, sitting down, "Dallas murder story," He says, almost as if he's introducing himself, "We had the drama with the phone calls-"

"Oh, good Lord, _that_ ," Grell moans in recollection, rubbing her temples, "Humphries, I know you don't do it on purpose, but do you realise how much we rely on phones in journalism these days?"

Alan laughs, "Sorry- they were calling you guys too?"

" _Incessantly_ ," Grell replies, "This isn't what I meant when I said I was in need of gentleman callers, you know." She jokes, "Whiskey?"

"Just a small one," Alan asks, "But, you weren't sure if we were gonna carry on-"

"Ah, yes," Grell nods, pouring out their drinks, "I remember now- a _very_ handsome man came to visit me- Spears?"

Alan almost spits out his drink, but composes himself, "Handsome isn't the word I'd use after speaking to him more than twice." He laughs weakly, starting to wonder if he should have asked for more whiskey than he did.

Grell smirks, "Well, I suppose you already snagged the tall one- I didn't expect you to be the tall, dark, and handsome type, to be honest."

Alan grins smugly, "I'm flexible."

Grell shakes her head, "You're _sneaky_ is what you are," She scolds playfully, "I send you out with a job and you come back with a man, you're _awful_ , Humphries." She grins to herself, "As I was saying- Spears came to me telling he couldn't track the call?"

Alan nods, "They didn't know who was calling-"

"Yes, I know what that means," Grell dismisses, waving a manicured hand, "It's just about what that means for _you_."

Alan shifts his eyebrows, "Are you actually going to tell me, or-"

"See, the way I look at it," Grell continues, leaning on her desk, "Sure, it could be something bad, but we don't know. I would be willing to put every penny that it's some juvenile prank."

Alan nods, "I did think that, too."

Grell smiles at Alan, "You're a smart kid, Humphries, I'm not too worried about you," She assures him, "Knox, on the other hand..."

"Oh, I have something from him," Alan pulls out the stack of paper, "Do you have a stapler?"

Grell rolls her eyes playfully as she pulls her own from a draw, "He's lucky," She says, taking the papers and stapling them together, "Honestly, Al-"

"Alan." He corrects, before he can stop himself.

"Alan, then- You're careful, you're smart, and you're more than capable. If it were anyone else, I might well have called it off," Grell explains, "But, you can handle yourself, and you're selling, so I don't see a reason to call it off."

Alan nods, elated, "Thank you so much-"

Grell shrugs, smiling, "You did it, not me," She says casually, "Now you'd best be getting home, it's getting much to late for me to be keeping you."

Alan grabs his bag, walking out, "I'll do a good job, I promise- Oh! I forgot these..." He puts his own papers on her desk, still smiling against himself, "Thank you!" He calls, walking out.

The idea of walking back up the stairs doesn't seem too awful to him right now.

 

~*~

 

Alan hears the door of the office click shut behind him, and he breaths a sigh of the warm, heavy summer night air, feeling incredibly tiny within the universe.

He takes comfort in that- however insignificant he is, he had a moment of pure happiness that was just for him.

He smiles to himself, pulling his jacket around himself. He can see through the lit windows of the flat block next to the office- a tiny glimpse of a domestic scene of someone else's life who doesn't even know he exists-

"Specs!"

Alan turns to the voice, laughing, "What are you doing here?"

Eric tackles him into a hug from behind, Alan laughing even more, "I needed to meet you, I just caught you," He explains, "What's the verdict?"

Alan grins, "I still have a job, like you said," He replies, "And it's the job I want."

Eric laughs smugly, "I told you!" He presses a kiss to Alan's temple, but Alan shys away.

"Not now," Alan insists, "Please."

Eric sighs bittersweetly, his arms falling to his sides, "Also, I hope you've got some energy left, because I need you to come to mine, asap."

Alan laughs, "Why?"

Eric, "I've got a couple of things I want you to look over," He has to restrain himself from hugging Alan from behind again, but he genuinely feels like he couldn't get close enough, even if he tried, "And I miss you, I want you around..." He whines.

Alan can't help but grin, "You saw me this morning."

"I mean, if you don't want to..." Eric teases.

"No no no, I'm fine!" Alan insists, laughing.

"Come on then, it's not long to walk," Eric says, "Do you think you can do it?"

Alan ignores his body, "Sure."

And under the gaze of the streetlight and the stars, he really doesn't care that he can't afford to hold his hand anymore.

When's he ever cared about what he's supposed to do, anyway?

 

~*~

 

**Time: 00:12**

**Location: Average overpriced London terraced house**

**Temperature: The night air is physically heavy with the heat, but that’s okay. The kind of night where you only light your lamps.**

 

"I gotta say, when you said you wanted me to look over something, I didn't think you meant a little arts and crafts project."

Eric swats jokingly at Alan as Alan gives a throaty laugh, "It's a timeline of events, you cheeky little bastard," He explains, "I just want you over since you've got the notes."

"Sure, sure," Alan teases, getting his notebook out his bag, "If you'd have asked, I would have got them mimeographed for you."

Eric pouts playfully, hugging Alan from behind again, "What's up, Al, don't you wanna be here?"

Alan giggles, pressing a kiss to his jaw, "I'll look over it for you," He promises, "Don't worry your little head. Just explain it to me."

"Right, we've got three different lines- one for each suspect, so we can see when something doesn't line up," Eric explains, guiding Alan's eyes with his finger, "Obviously, Welch's is the most full right now, but I think as we get more questioning done, we're gonna be able to catch some liars."

Alan nods, "Good plan," He comments, taking Eric's hands in his own, feeling completely at home, "We need to talk to Phelps more... ugh..."

Eric gives a weak laugh, "Hang in there, short stuff." He kisses the top of his head, "Are we gonna look at this, then?"

"Sure," Alan walks towards the table, adjusting his glasses, "Everything _looks_ alright... oh, you forgot them arriving on the 31st."

Eric snatches up the pen before Alan can, "I've _seen_ your handwriting, specs, no way in _hell_ you're writing on this."

Alan laughs, “Don’t be mean,” He teases, taking his free hand again, “I don’t _have_ to help you.”

Eric smiles, looking right at Alan, his dark eyes creasing, smiling with him, “I know you don’t.”

Eric’s heart melts a little at the gentle look Alan gives him in response- Sure he’s been in love before, but this is what it’s like to be _lovers_.

Eric smiles, completely without having to think about it this time, “Are you staying the night again?”

Alan looks right at him, looking so soft and gentle, “With pleasure.”

Eric takes him from behind again, appreciating that he’s the perfect height to rest his chin on his head, “You want anything? Something to eat? Drink?”

Alan shakes his head, closing his eyes and just absorbing the feeling of being wanted, “Just stay here.” He mumbles.

“Are you tired?” Eric asks softly, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind Alan’s ear.

Alan shakes his head again, “Not too tired... just achy.”

“You can go to bed if you want.”

Alan tilts his head to look up at Eric, “Sure, but I’ll still help you.”

Eric grins a little at his response- how predictable of Alan, “Come on, then.”

 

~*~

 

Eric readjusts the lamp, squinting at Alan’s handwriting again, “Al, I love you, but I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re on about...”

He hears the mattress creak, his eyes snapping over to Alan’s shoulder-blade facing him, “What’s wrong?” He groans, slowly turning over to face Eric.

Eric smile softly at him, “Nothing, nothing...”

Alan’s eyes are still half closed, his face slightly flushed from sleep, “Come to bed, it’s late... I wanna be near you...”

Eric smiles against himself again, bending down to kiss Alan’s forehead, “Give me a couple of moments.”

And Eric is happy to confirm that there’s no feeling equivalent to waking up to see the man he loves first thing in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls take this useless soft chapter... I feel like it’s justified after making Alan cry last chapter skjdhsjs and also?? I just wanna write my soft boys..


	15. 15- Zeno’s Paradox

**Date: 4rd July, 1987**   
**Time: 8:17**   
**Location: physically on the earthly plane, but emotionally elsewhere**   
**Temperature: When it's too hot to sleep with a duvet, but you need a duvet to sleep so you just grit your teeth through it**

Eric wakes up first, and he's glad for it.

He can hear Alan's breathing next to him, his head on his shoulder as he lies on his side, arm lazily draped over Eric's torso, the tiniest of snores escaping his mouth.

Eric sighs, smiling- he doesn't ever want to move from here. Alan looks so perfect amongst the cream colour of the covers, and the sunlight sneaking through the shutters of the blind, fragments of morning falling over his sleeping frame and face. He's gotten much more freckly in the past month, the underneaths of his eyes smattered with freckles, and his hair an absolute mess.

 _God_ , he's gone from being some weirdo a little too invested in murders to being some weirdo a little too invested in murder with a partner in crime in a _month_.

Well. A partner in _solving_ crime. That's actually a very important addition now he thinks about it, considering Alan's general attitude to petty crime.

He feels a slight shift at his side, "Oh, God, you again..."

Eric smiles, "You sleep okay?"

Alan barely moves, "Quite well, all things considered," He replies, his voice still husky from sleep, "I mean, my shoulder's still effectively useless-"

"Like the rest of you, then," Eric jabs playfully, "What do you want for breakfast?"

Alan buries himself further into the covers, nuzzling into Eric's shoulder, "Tramadol."

"Damn, we're fresh out," Eric jokes, "How do you feel about eggs?"

"Squishy and weird."

"Bacon?"

"Fatty."

Eric rolls his eyes, "Fussy bastard," He mumbles, pressing a kiss to Alan's forehead, "How about toast?"

"...Tolerable."

Eric sighs, "How the hell does Ronald cook for you every day?"

"I have no idea," Alan replies, "I think it's out of desperation for me to not cook under any circumstance."

Eric sniggers, "You said it, not me," He says, stretching, "If I call Spears soon-ish we might be able to get a questioning with Phelps this afternoon."

"Ah, my two favourite people in the world, right after Thatcher and Reagan," Alan runs his hand through his hair. He casts Eric a glance as he stretches again, "Are you really getting up already?"

Eric sees the subtle plead in his inky black eyes, and hears the slight falter in his voice, and damn, Alan knows how to get him to do something without even asking, even if he doesn't know that he knows.

"Not yet." He assures him, slightly shifting the arm he has over Alan's shoulders. 

"Good, because you'd have to take your own damn notes for once," Alan mumbles, blushing a little and finding that his head fits rather nicely in the crook of Eric's neck, "You can just leave me here."

"And leave me to deal with Phelps on my own? You're more of a dick than I thought."

Alan smirks, "You get out what you put in."

Eric sighs, smiling he bushes Alan's hair out his face, "You drive me absolutely fucking mental."

Alan smirks again, eyebrows shifting, "Oh, really?" He teases, his voice still throaty and raspy from sleep.

There _has_ to be laws against this.

~*~

**Date: 4rd July, 1987**

**Time: 2:56**

**Location: Uncomfortably upper-middle class**

**Temperature: Too hot for a cool jacket. Sorry, Alan.**

Eric stretches, opening the car door, "Well, best get this over with." Alan drags himself over to the house with Eric, "Please try and behave yourself."

Alan looks up at Eric, looking at him right in the eye as they come to a stop outside Phelps' annoyingly perfect house, with it's annoyingly perfect garden and annoyingly perfect lawn, "Why?"

"Because unemployment isn't fun."

"Ah."

Eric knocks on the door, expecting a child to open the door again, but a tall woman with dark hair answers, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Eric Slingby, a private investigator," He shows her his ID, and he has a couple of ideas about who this woman might be, "We need to question a Mr. Hues-Phelps."

"Come into the kitchen, he'll be with you soon." She says as Alan waves a press pass in her vague direction as he steps into the hallway, everything about the house being uncomfortably clean and in it's place. 

Eric sits on a chair in the kitchen, the whole house eerily quiet, the only audible sound being Alan's pen scratching against the paper. He also notices that there's no strawberries on the table anymore, and he doesn't know if he wants to point that out to Alan or not.

"Do you know who that woman is?" Alan asks after a pause, not looking up.

"No idea." Eric sighs, looking around him. Nothing of interest.

"If it's a new woman already, I'm gonna fucking-"

"You're not gonna do _anything_ ," Eric insists.

Alan pouts a little, moody, "It was hyperbole."

"I got a D in my English GCSE, do you really think I know what that me-"

"Hello, gentlemen," Phelps says as he walks into the kitchen, "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

Eric winces- there's something incredibly disturbing about nineteen-year-old frat boy vibes coming off a thirty-five year old man, "Yeah, we just have a few loose ends," He replies, desperately trying to shake it off, "You don't happen to know an Angelina Dallas?"

"Oh, my sister in law," He replies pleasantly, but there's something that sounds suspiciously fake in his voice, "She's a nice enough woman, we don't really talk much."

"You never had anything to do with her?" Eric presses, and he sees Alan's eyes glaze over a little in revelation, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Properly? It would have been when we got married," He replies, flicking his hair back yet again, "But I've seen her out and about since."

Alan raises an eyebrow, "Angelina told us that she hadn't seen her sister since a fight with her father over your marriage," He points out, twirling his pen in his hand, "So, when was this argument?"

Phelps looks horribly taken aback for one split second, before regaining his cocky exterior, "We married in secret, Angelina was the only family that know. The argument was about a month after."

Eric can tell Alan wouldn't believe him if Phelps got down on his knees and begged him, and he's already well on the way on making a plan of what to do next- he really does admire his forward thinking, pressing onward attitude.

Eric frowns as yet another silence settles over the whole house, "Where are your kids?" He asks, "There were three kids last time we came."

Phelps shrugs, "I sent them out when I heard you were coming. I didn't want them running around and making noise."

Eric sees Alan roll his eyes so hard he's genuinely worried about him getting eye strain, "So, you never met Juliet's father?" Eric asks.

"Never," Phelps replies, "I only ever heard about him through Juliet."

Eric nods, "I see," He mumbles, not so subtly trying to decode Alan's handwriting, however miserably he might have been failing, "I think we'll be leaving..."

"Sure thing," Alan replies, much too eager and much too at ease with being so eager as he looks at Phelps, "You wouldn't mind showing us the door?"

"Of course not," Phelps replies stiffly, sounding thoroughly annoyed, and Eric can already tell that Alan's absolutely delighted at his reaction as they follow him through the hallway, "Here- have a nice day."

Eric nods, "You too, thank you so much-" He can hear Alan already trying the car doors impatiently, "You've been a great help."

"Come _on_ , it's hot and I'm tired."

Eric forces another smile, "Hopefully we won't have to see you again- um, in a nice way." He tacks onto the end, "Have a nice day."

Eric finally unlocks the car for Alan, who's still scribbling away in his notebook as Eric turns on the radio and opens the windows, "I have a feeling you want to tell me something."

"I have lots of things I want to tell you, but only a third make it though my mental filter," Alan replies dryly, "Give me a moment..." He frowns a little as he writes, his hair falling over his face, "Okay, so no one's stories are lining up about what happened before the murder, right? But everything seems perfectly in place so far about the actual murder-"

"I see where you're going with this." Eric says, lighting a cigarette.

"It _has_ to have been a planned thing," Alan insists, "I think they've all come together and planned this, and then arranged the lie that they tell us, but they haven't planned as far back as before the murder."

Eric muses a while, "It's a good idea," He admits, "But until we get all three of their stories, we can't be sure, and since Welch most likely doesn't know that Phelps exists-"

"We need to ask him, then," Alan replies bluntly, seeing unbothered, "Because what if he does know? What if he just didn't bring it up because it doesn't seem important?"

Eric sighs- Alan's right, and he knows it, but that doesn't make him any less reluctant to break the news to someone that their girlfriend has a husband.

"Fine." Eric replies eventually, taking a drag, "Next time we see him, one of us will ask."

Alan rolls his eyes, "I can do it for you if it's that much of a bother for you."

Eric sighs again, looking distant, "Every time we feel like we're getting somewhere, we just end up with another million things to do." He mumbles.

Alan nods, "Like Zeno's paradox."

"I have no idea what that is, and I have a feeling you don't either."

Alan shifts a little in his chair, "Perhaps." He says, sounding a little ruffled.

Eric laughs a little to himself, "I don't know if I'm gonna bother going back to Spears," He says, "Do you mind if I just fax him or something later?"

Alan gives a sarcastic splutter, "No," He laughs, "He has the personality of an Adidas sandal, he's not exactly my favourite person to be around."

Eric gives a breathy laugh, "Home, then?"

"Home."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit I actually thought writing this chapter was gonna kill me
> 
> Also sorry this took a little longer I got rly stuck halfway through but it's here now!!!! and i can finally fuckin move on lmao
> 
> (also in case u were wondering zeno’s paradox is the theory that when you hit the halfway point there’s another halfway point between there and ur goal so like. no matter how far u go there’s still halfway. im not smart skdjsk i just heard that in Amélie and thought it was cool)


	16. 16- Everyone Hates Or Doesn’t Know How To Do Their Job

**Date: 6th July, 1987**   
**Time: 16:18**   
**Location: that one council estate that always smells like weed (which could be all of them at any given time)**   
**Temperature: That weird time at sunset in summer where the heat just kind of settles, and it's either horrible or great.**

 

"Ronald? Is Alan in?"

There's a slight pause as Eric waits for the reply through the intercom, "Um, physically," Ronald replies, "He's kind of, er... in agony or doped up on painkillers. Probably both."

Eric's brows furrow in sympathy for him, "Does he mind if I come and see him?"

"Hold up, I'll find out." Ronald announces, leaving.

Eric bites his lip a little, worrying- he'd seen Alan in pain before; multiple times, in fact, for someone who looks so lithe, he's incredibly clumsy. But he gets the distinct impression that this isn't going to be the same as Alan hitting his elbow on a table or missing a step on the stairs- Eric can laugh that off. At the end of the day, it's nothing.

But this is going to be a little more than nothing.

"Come on up, mate, he says it's fine," Ronald says, "I'll unlock the door for you."

"Thanks," Eric replies back into the intercom, grounding himself as he walks up the stairs- however bad he might find it, it's gonna be worse for Alan-

What the _hell_ , how is that comforting? Get yourself _together_ , Slingby.

Ronald's writing at the table when he opens the door, and he smiles at him, still clicking away at his typewriter, "It's the door on the left," He says, pointing to the hall, "He's awake, don't worry."

Eric knocks gently on the door, "Specs? Can I come in?"

There's a pause, "Are you sure?" He hears Alan groan from the other side of the door, "It's really, uh... something else in here..."

Eric slowly opens the door, "Oh, come on, this is barely anything," He insists, looking around him- it's quite pleasantly messy, really, it feels like much more of a reflection of Alan than the rest of the house- there's a few jackets and coats on the back of the chair at his desk, which is strewn with empty boxes of pills and scraps of paper, some typed and others written. He can see one of his to-do lists stuck to his bulletin in front of the desk, and he squints at it in the dark to read it-

 

_Thatcher's bullshit- 12th June_

_Reagan's bullshit- ????? Find out what happened- 13th June_

_Get prescription_

_Pay Ronnie back for prescription_

_Sardasht- ??????_

_Find out what country Sardasht is in_

_Try to pass Sardasht on to someone else_

_Pauline Reade- for 4th July - Manchester????? FIND OUT_

 

Eric laughs a little, "Do you know how to do your job?"

"No." Alan replies, his voice raspy and quiet- he's much paler then normal, his glasses on the bedside table next to a cold cup of tea with a straw in it, and his curled hair doesn't look like he's even touched it all day.

Eric laughs a little, sitting on the edge of Alan's bed- he wants to play with his hair, or just touch him in any way, but he really doesn't know if he should- would it hurt him? That's honestly the last thing he wants, "Don't you think it would be good to get some sunlight in here?"

"Hell no," Alan mumbles, "I've got a migraine and it's almost on par with the rest of my goddamn body."

Eric smiles a little, "How's your shoulder?"

Alan sighs, forcing himself to sit up, "Not so bad, actually- it's mainly my back, I don't know what I did... Carrying my typewriter around, maybe?" He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and slowly reaching over for a glass of water.

Eric hands him it, "Here, let me-"

"For fucks _sake_ , I'm not a fucking _kid_." Alan snaps, his voice still sounding so sore, and the guilt hits Eric in the stomach like a ton of bricks.

"Sorry, I-"

"No, I'm sorry... I'm not normally like this, just..."

"Yeah, I know, don't worry..."

There's a pause that lasts just a little too long, "Why'd you come, anyway?" Alan asks, still sounding as if the mere act of speaking is using every ounce of energy he has, "Or do you just like watching me in pain?" He teases.

"Well, that too," Eric jokes back, "I just came to tell you that we're questioning Dallas and Welch together tomorrow. We can reschedule if you're not feeling better, though."

Alan looks a little disappointed, "Best to reschedule, I guess," He says, vaguely bitter, "Or I could have someone take over for me if it's that much of an inconvenience."

Eric rolls his eyes, but he can't help but feel guilty, "Don't be so silly," He quips,silently surprised at Alan's sudden push-over attitude, "I'm not going to make it through a joint questioning without you."

Alan doesn't respond, he just looks distantly at nothing, his black eyes thinking about something that Eric very nearly has a grasp on, but it slips right through his fingers, "Are you sure?" Alan whispers, still sounding like every word is draining him, "You know, there lots more reliable people out there- reliable people who write better than me, too-"

"Alan, it's fine," Eric says gently, and Alan looks a little startled at the use of his actual name- he's gotten very used to hearing some kind of affectionate insult in place of it, "Take care of yourself. Have you eaten?"

Alan smiles, his brows furrowing, "I'm trying." He replies, "Just, you know... shaky hands and shit..."

The straw in the tea suddenly makes sense, "Just take it easy, specs." Eric encourages- he feels Alan lie down slowly behind him, and he takes the floor in favour of the bed.

"Thank you for putting up with me." Alan says hoarsely, lying on his side and letting his arm drape over the edge of the bed so Eric can take his hand.

"Don't say it like that," Eric scolds, taking his hand gingerly- he has a feeling that Alan hates that, but he really can't help it, he's never dealt with something like this before. He turns to face him, "I wanna be around you, it's no big inconvenience."

Alan smiles somewhat sadly, "Thank you." He whispers hoarsely, sounding tired.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Eric stroking the back of Alan's hand and looking around his room a little, but his gaze always comes straight back to Alan, and he can't quite tell if he's in thought or close to falling asleep.

"Hey, specs?"

"...Hm?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you've got really pretty eyes?"

Alan turns red, smiling, "Not really, no," He replies, "I get told they're creepy quite a bit. And everyone took the piss in high school because, you know, teenagers are great."

Eric shakes his head, "Nah, I think they're incredible," He grins, "They're such a stunning colour, it suits you."

Eric is really not helping the blush spreading across Alan's face, which he partially buries in his duvet in a rare moment of vulnerability, "Eric Slingby, you're too much." Alan announces, mumbling into his duvet.

Eric smiles- he lo- really likes that about Alan; yes, he has a very definite image, but he never tries to hide behind it. He shows what he's feeling, and you can count on him to be genuine.

Eric just smirks, "You're welcome."

 

~*~

 

**Date: 10th July, 1987**

**Time: 8:46**

**Location: Police station car park**

**Temperature: When someone else puts your shopping away so you spend half an hour with your face in the freezer looking for some sweet potato chips.**

 

To call Alan sat in the passenger seat of Eric's car, his glasses steamed up from his coffee and scowling to the soundtrack of ABBA's Super Trouper a juxtaposition is an understatement.

Eric sighs, parking the car, and turning the radio down a bit, "What's wrong with you _now_?" He swats at Alan's legs, careful not to actually hit them, "Get you feet of my fecking _dashboard_ , how many _times_?"

Alan shrugs, "The general idea of being around people isn't too thrilling to me right now. Much less _these_ people."

Eric rolls his eyes, getting out the car, "Well, one of ' _these_ people' happens to be... well, he's not our boss, I guess..."

Alan huffs, "Might as well be," He says, practically reading Eric's mind as they walk forwards, "Can't take three steps forward without having to tell him about it..."

Eric laughs against his conscience, holding the door open for Alan, "He's just professional," Eric insists, "Hi Marilyn- Spears is expecting us?"

Marilyn winks, and Eric sees Alan move closer in the corner or his eye, his arm brushing against his own, "I'll let him know, you make your way down."

Alan follows next to Eric, throwing his empty cup in a bin, "Where's Welch and Dallas? Shouldn't they be here?"

Eric shrugs, "They might be already- the main worry is making sure that they don't see each other before the questioning. I don't think they even know they're getting questioned one after the other."

"Well, that would defeat the purpose." Alan mumbles, knocking on the door.

"Come in," William calls as Eric pushes open the door, "Ah, Slingby, Humphries. It's been a while. How have you been?"

"It's had its ups and downs," Alan replies, sitting in a chair sideways, his legs draped over the arm of it, "What's happening, anyway?"

William looks at his watch, "Welch should be brought in soon," He says, and as if they heard him, there's a knock on the door. William sighs, "Come in."

Two men escort Welch into the room, "Sit down," William instructs Welch, who looks incredibly out of his depth. William looks at the two men, "You may leave."

Welch sits down slowly, nervous, "I assume you know why you're here," William says to him, "And if not, then I really don't have the energy to explain, so just pretend you do."

Welch laughs nervously, "Don't worry, I'm not that thick."

"Well, that's quite the relief," William deadpans, pulling out a sheet of paper from a stack, "Should we just cut to the point?"

Eric nods, "If you could just repeat- Do you know an Angelina Dallas?"

Welch nods, "Yeah, I collected a package off her."

"Did you see her after that?"

Welch shakes his head, "Never."

Alan cocks his head slightly, "And you didn't have the slightest idea that Juliet might have known her?"

"Well, Tash- uh, Juliet, didn't really say anything much about it, just that she wanted me to get it for her- you know, she obviously weren't at her best at the time, so it didn't seem too off."

Eric nods, "You did say that she was quite suspicious in general though, right?"

Zacharias nods, "Yeah, but-"

William frowns, "You don't think that she was involved with any illegal activity?" Eric looks at Alan, and he knows _exactly_ what he's holding back from saying. William rolls his eyes, "That you _didn't_ know about that could have caused her death."

Welch bites his lip, "I mean, I suppose there's the possibility- like, a big one. I don't know for certain though."

Alan scribbles something down, "You don't even have a clue what it might have been if she was?"

Welch shakes his head again, "No idea- she never really told me anything about her life before she met me, so it's not really past her, but... I just don't know."

"Slightly off topic," Alan begins, "The last place you saw her was at her house? Where is her house?”

“Oh, no, I last saw her at the station,” He says, “She told me she was going back to hers.”

“Fucking... That’s fine, whatever...”

Eric really wishes Alan wouldn’t come up with stuff out of the blue like that, “I think we’re finished,” He says, “Does anyone else have anything to ask?”

William and Alan shake their heads. Eric smiles at Welch, “Thanks for your time- Are Jamie and Danny still outside?”

William nods, “They will escort you out, Mr. Welch.” Welch nods, leaving and closing the door, “Well, one down, one to go.”

“I was thinking maybe Juliet had got her own place,” Alan mumbled, “I mean, she clearly don’t want to be around Phelps anymore...”

“Mm, that makes sense,” Eric mumbles, biting his nails, “Because she’s have to have gotten that money from somewhere, so that would point more towards being in some illegal shit...”

Alan sighs, suddenly sitting properly in his chair and stretching, “Whatever... Hopefully Dallas is gonna help out a bit more... she’ll fuck up their lie or something...”

Eric sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Hopefully...”

There’s a knock at the door, “Mr. Spears? Miss Dallas is here to see you.”


	17. 17- Nothing Changes In A Month

 

**Date: 10th July, 1987**   
**Time: 9:38**   
**Location: William's office**   
**Temperature: A shitty fan on the desk, but it just blows your hair in your face.**

William sighs, "Bring her in, then."

Angelina walks in, looking surprisingly put together and calm, if vaguely annoyed. She barely even looks bothered, her makeup irritatingly flawless, red lipstick perfectly shaped, and not a hair out of place. She sits down, tapping a red stiletto against the floor, "Shall we get on?" She prompts, moving her hair behind her ear.

Alan slouches further in his chair, "It would be nice," He mumbles, still scribbling, "Give us a moment."

William sips his tea, setting up the audio recorder again, "When you're ready, Eric."

Eric shifts in his chair, getting comfortable, "Now, do you know a Zacharias Welch?"

Angelina frowns, "Not outside of work. He placed an order with me, and that was the most contact we had."

Eric nods, "And what about Robert Hues-Phelps? Do you know who he is?"

Angelina raises an eyebrow, "Vaguely. I know that he married my sister. I never met him."

Eric has a distinct feeling he's never going to be this happy to hear someone lie to him again- Alan looks as if he could cry with happiness, but trying to play it off at the same time. Eric nods, trying to act normal, "And you never saw your sister after that, either?"

Angelina shakes her head, "I didn't even think she would have still been in London."

Alan's brows furrow, "How did you know-"

Eric gives Alan a meaningful look, and he falls silent, writing, a lock of hair falling over his face and the sun catching his glasses, and he crosses one long, lean leg over the other- _god_ , the man has legs that could go on for _days_ -

" _Slingby_."

Eric jumps a little, startled,"Sorry," He mumbles, and Alan smirks knowingly, and for fucks sake, he must do this on purpose, "So, you haven't seen Welch, Phelps, or your sister since you last said?"

"No."

"And you had no contact with any of them?"

"No."

Eric shifts, "This is a slightly more, uh, sensitive question," He begins,"But do you know if your sister had anything like a will laid out? Life insurance, anything like that?"

Angelina shakes her head, looking confused, "I don't know, I don't think I would have been mentioned anyway- we were close, but she never reached out when she left," She explains, "Why do you ask? You think this was some life insurance scheme?"

"Potentially," Alan replies, "We also thought she might be involved in some kind of illegal activity, and having a will so young would be a pretty good pointer to that."

Dear god, it's like he can read Eric's mind.

"Well, she has no will that I knew of, but you're asking the wrong person. I would talk to her husband about that." Angelina prompts, crossing her legs, "Do you need anything else?"

William leans forward, "Did you have any idea that your sister or Welch was out of town at the time?"

Angelina shakes her head, "Why would I? I had no contact with her."

William nods, "I see," He mumbles, looking at the two men that brought her in, "If you will, please."

They escort her out, pushing the door closed behind her, "So," William begins, "What have you got?"

"Well, Phelps told us that she was at his wedding, and that he's seen her about since," Eric says, "So someone's lying."

"I would say probably Dallas," Alan says, pushing his glasses up into his hair, putting his notepad down, "If it was a joint effort, it makes more sense to lie about having no contact with him, and Phelps is honestly thicker than a whale omelet."

Eric holds back a laugh, "We can't make an arrest based on how much you like each suspect."

"Why not?"

Eric sighs, looking back at Spears, "Anyway," He begins, Alan giving a throaty laugh, "I was also thinking- if it's all three of them working together, then it makes sense for Welch to say he's going out with Dallas, because then he knows we'll just assume he don't know who he is-"

"Again, though, not the sharpest knife in the draw," Alan interjects, "But that does make sense."

"Well," William begins, "What now?"

Eric sighs, "I don't know," He admits, "I was thinking we just get them all in together- when something doesn't line up, it'll be much clearer."

"So we're nearly certain it was a joint effort?" William prompts, looking over his glasses.

Eric nods, "We just need to prove it, is all," He says, standing up, and judging by the cracking noise and quiet ' _Christ on a bike_ ' he can assume Alan copied him, "You don't need anything else, right?"

William shakes his head, "You may leave."

 

~*~

 

"So we're still barely any closer than we were when we got here," Alan announces, getting in Eric's car, "This is so _frustrating_ \- it's been nearly a month, and it feels like we've just hit dead end after dead end..."

Eric pretends to be hurt, "What's up, short-stuff? Sick of me already?"

Alan huffs, "That's not what I mean, and you know it," He mumbles, "I just... I don't know, it just annoys me..."

"I know, I know," Eric sighs, "I really do think we're nearly there, though."

Alan looks up, black eyes wide, "You do?"

Eric rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the guilty twinge in his chest at Alan's puppy dog eyes as he starts the car, "Come on, specs, you were just whining that it wasn't moving fast enough, make up your mind."

Alan frowns, "Stop it," He whines, "It just feels... weird. Maybe not so much for you, I guess, but... this time next month I could be writing about someone's missing dog, and it just doesn't feel right anymore-"

"Specs, chill out," Eric says breezily, hearing the tension build in his voice, "You're covering a murder, and you're covering it well- really well, actually. They'll probably find you something similar to do when this is over, don't worry."

Alan huffs, childish as he slouches back into the seat, folding his arms, "It won't be as fun without you, though."

Eric's face goes warm again, his heart fluttering in his chest, "Don't call a murder fun, Jesus _Christ_ , specs."

Alan sighs, but he can't help the smile playing at his lips, "Are you always this romantic?"

Eric blushes even harder, but tries his best to ignore it, "Everyday," He jokes, "You should think yourself lucky."

Alan looks as if he's about to say something but decides against it, taking Eric's hand instead.

"Uh, I appreciate it and all, but I kind of need that hand to drive," Eric says, still flustered as ever, mentally cursing Alan, because he's _never_ been like this in any other relationship. He gives Alan's hand a gentle squeeze, pulling his own away, "Still writing?"

Alan nods, "I've never got less than two stories on the go, I thought you knew?" He yawns, "God, I feel like I died and someone forgot to tell me..." He mumbles, drawing his knees to his chest, eyes heavy.

"You can go to sleep if you want." Eric says nonchalantly.

Alan laughs to himself, "I don't need permission anymore, I would hope."

Eric’s heart stammers in his throat again- of _course_ , they’ve been through all of this before- one month ago, on the way to the autopsy, he’d fallen asleep in Eric’s passenger seat- same car, same man, same dishevelled, work-worn expression on his face, and still the same overpriced boots, but everything feels so _different_. It’s only been a month, but he really can’t imagine a time before knowing him- it seems so far away and irrelevant, and being around Alan has lit his life up in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe, even if he wanted to.

It doesn’t feel like it could only be a month since Alan was last sleeping in Eric’s passenger seat.

Alan shifts in his sleep, a tiny snore escaping his lips, the sun glinting off his glasses, the light reflecting onto his face, shining on the freckles underneath his eyes, jet black hair shining as the sun hits it, and Jesus Christ, he really did get way luckier than he deserved to with Alan.

He pulls up outside his apartment, gently shaking his arm- he’s so warm, he almost wants to go to sleep with him, “You’re home, specs appeal.”

Alan sits up, frowning, and then suddenly realises what Eric said to him, turning red, “You don’t like me without my glasses?” He immediately replies, unable to form a response that hides his embarrassment in his sleepy haze.

Eric smiles at his complete lack of a filter, “You know that’s not what I meant,” He teases, “Are you getting out or not?”

Alan opens the door, looking behind him, “Aren’t you coming in?”

Eric sighs, smiling begrudgingly, “I have work,” He replies simply, “I’ll see you soon?”

Alan nods, grinning, “See you soon.”


	18. 18- Dealing With Emotions When You Don’t Want Any In The First Place

**Date: 15th July, 1987**   
**Time: 20:54**   
**Location: The least accessible apartment in SoHo**   
**Temperature: Why even bother opening the windows? It's not like it's less humid outside.**

 

"Al, it's for you!"

Alan sighs, setting his papers aside on the sofa, "Who is it?" He asks, his voice husky from lack of use, pushing his glasses up into his hair. Ronald only smirks in response, and Alan huffs, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper that's way too long for him, taking the phone off Ronald, knowing damn well who it is, "What's up?"

"See you got your phone back." Eric teases.

Alan rolls his eyes, "You too," He replies, "How long has it been gone now?"

Eric laughs, "Just over a month," He says, "Still don't know who called, but I don't think it matters so much anymore."

"What do you need, anyway?" Alan asks, giving his typewriter a guilty look, "I don't wanna chase you off, but I'm kind of busy..."

"Oh, no, I get it," Eric insists, his tone quickly turning boyish in excitement, "I just have some good news for you."

Alan's chest flutters a little at Eric's tone- for someone who's 6'4 and at least 60% muscle, he's honestly the most adorable person Alan knows, "Oh, really?" He teases, "Did they impeach Reagan?"

Eric laughs, "Not that good," He plays along, "We finally got the all clear to get Welch, Dallas and Phelps together."

"Sweet," Alan replies, grinning, "When for?"

"Um... Next week? Yeah, that's what it says here," Eric checks, "It was more about getting Will on board with the idea- convincing him why we think it's a joint effort, you know... god he's fucking horrible to convince, though, you'd have more luck converting the pope."

Alan giggles, "He really does come off that way," He agrees, "He's got the flexibility of a wooden plank."

He hears Eric laugh weakly, "Did you eat yet?"

"Not yet," He replies, bracing himself for what he knows is coming, "I'm just gonna finish this article and get something, and then probably go to bed, I'm exhausted..."'

He can practically hear Eric frown down the phone, "Make sure you eat a proper meal, don't work yourself to hard."

Alan laughs, "I won't, don't worry," He assures him, "You can't starve when you're living with Ronnie, he'd rather be full and homeless."

"Alright, alright," Eric replies, "Rest well."

"I will," Alan promises, "See you soon."

Ronald smirks as soon as Alan puts the phone down, setting plates onto the table, "Are you _seriously_ trying to tell me that the Alan Humphries is finally settling down after, what? Eight years?"

Alan rolls his eyes, "Miracles happen every day," He says dryly, walking back towards the sofa, the sleeves of his jumper falling back down, his hair fluttering slightly in the breeze with their neighbours washing hanging on the balcony in the sunset"I-"

"Don't even think about it," Ronald snaps, pointing an accusatory finger, "I didn't let you barely function as a uni student for you to function even worse as an adult." He insists, dishing up a risotto, "I bought _vegetables_ for you."

Alan laughs, "Okay, okay, I'm coming," He assures him, sitting at the table, watching Ronald dish up the meal, the hunger suddenly hitting his stomach, "What's your obsession with making me eat?"

"Because you're an absolute mess and you would forget without me," Ronald says bluntly, handing Alan a fork, "Dig in."

Alan follows instructions, ravenous, "So," Ronald begins conversationally, "What's going on with Dallas now?"

"Nothing, she's dead."

Ronald looks blankly at Alan, still ultimately cracking with a smile, "You know what I mean."

Alan smiles with him, "We've finally managed to get all three of them together, so we can probably confirm if it was a joint effort then," He explains, "And then after that, I've finished my first ever crime story, and..."

"And?" Ronald prompts, hearing him trail off. He smiles knowingly, "What? You're already sentimental?"

Alan turn his head away from Ronald, frowning and playing with the ends of his sleeves, "I'm not sentimental," He replies venomously, his cheeks turning red, "I'm just- I'm not- It feels weird, is all. I've fallen into a routine now. That's it- _what_?" He insists, seeing the way that Ronald's looking at him.

Ronald shakes his head, "I would recommend a therapist, but you'd probably just do this the whole time and get kicked out."

"What's that meant to mean?"

Ronald laughs, "I'm teasing, you emotionally constipated prat," He gets up from the table, standing behind Alan's chair and loosely wrapping his arms over his shoulders while Alan pretends to be uncomfortable for all of about ten seconds, "Now, what's wrong?"

Alan resists for a tiny moment, and then immediately brings his knees up to his chest, leaning his head on Ronald's arm, " _Everything_." He whines.

"It can't be _that_ bad."

"It _is_."

Ronald leans sideways to look at Alan, "Are you gonna talk about it, or just be vague and then work yourself to death for another three hours?"

"Both." Alan mumbles, "Give me time."

Ronald withholds a laugh, "You're literally more predictable than the fucking weather."

"Just..." Alan sighs, "I'm gonna miss it, is all... like, I know it's bad to say that about someone's murder-"

"Try disturbing."

" _Not_ the point here," Alan insists, "Just... I really don't want it to be over, you know? Like, I'm gonna miss everything that we've done together and, you know... working with him." He mumbles the last part, turning red and almost trying to disappear into his jumper.

Ronald smiles, bittersweet, "You know what I think?"

"Do I want to?"

Ronald flicks the back of Alan's head head, "Shut up and listen, smartass," He says playfully, "I think that you're not necessarily gonna miss, like, actually going out and solving a murder, I think your just gonna miss having that kind of connection on a regular basis, you know? Like, the way you work together or whatever it is."

Alan pauses for a moment, brow furrowed, "Ronnie, how long have you known me?"

"Long enough?"

"Clearly _not_ , because anyone and everyone knows that confirming that I do, in fact, have emotions is _not_ comforting, and explaining them is _scary_."

Ronald gives him a condescending pat on the head, "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind."

Alan slouches over, eating again and looking miserable, "Well, it's not like it's going away, whether I like it or not..."

Ronald nods, sitting back down, "Very true," He agrees, "Just don't worry about it, you know? Like, it was never gonna last forever in the first place, so now you're just about to start something new. That's how it works."

Alan sighs, "I guess," He agrees, which Ronald takes as a victory, "Thank you-"

"For putting up with you?" Ronald finishes, having spent far too much time with Alan and given him more than his fair share of advice, "Of course, who else would?"

Alan grins, shaking his head, "You're horrible."

"Love you too."

 

~*~

 

**Date: 22nd July, 1987**

**Time: 8:49am**

**Location: same grungy apartment, but it's not so bad when you know that there's a home in there where you're welcome**

**Temperature: the summer equivalent of pre-heating an oven**

 

Eric looks again at the clock in his car.

Fifteen minutes late.

Not really typical of Alan, but not surprising, either. He's not normally late without a good reason, but the problem is that he's full of good reasons.

He sees the reflection of Alan in the rear-view mirror walking towards the car, smiling with tired eyes at Eric, readjusting his messenger bag, "Sorry..." He yawns, opening the passenger side door and sliding in, "I went to drop off some work and, joy of joys, they had more for me to pick up..."

Eric frowns, "You look like you've had minus two hours of sleep."

Alan sighs, bringing his knees to his chest as Eric pulls out, "Probably closer to minus four, to tell the truth," He mumbles, "I feel like I died, but they brought me back because who else could possibly report the drop in unemployment? I mean, is this a fucking pisstake? I can name someone who's nearly been unemployed from the same job three times this year, and his name starts with an A and ends in a N-"

"That's it, just let it all out," Eric encourages, only half joking, "Hey, it's one less story after this!"

Alan rubs his temples, "Honestly, I might murder someone myself just to get another crime story, it's the only thing that's mildly tolerable in the political climate."

Eric nods along, hoping it comes across as understanding, despite being exactly the opposite of that when it comes to politics, "It'll be fine- specs, you live in _London_ , there's no shortage of crime around here."

"I know, but..."

Eric sighs, "Yeah, I know..." He replies, pausing, "Hey, maybe now I'll have time to take you on a proper date, though."

"What do you mean, I was completely swept off my feet when you took me to see a dead body after knowing you for a day," Alan replies dryly, unable to hide the blush spreading across his nose and cheeks, "Nothing will ever top that, I'm ruined for other men."

Eric laughs, pulling Alan closer to him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "You have the personality of a bitter eighty year old widow," He says, and somehow that comes out as a compliment, "I don't think you know how much you make me smile."

Alan looks at the floor, smiling to himself, "I think I have a pretty good idea."

Eric looks at him, smiling- he can't help it, it's contagious, "I mean, if you say so,” He notices Alan still looking at the floor, “Everything okay down there?”

Alan scowls at that phrase, but it melts away quickly, “It’s fine, just...” He sighs in frustration, “I can’t believe it’s nearly over- like, if this turns out to be a dead end then I’ll scream, but... It just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

Eric nods, “Yeah, I get what you’re saying,” He says, “But trust me, you’re not gonna miss this come next month.”

“I guess, but...” Alan sighs, tense shoulders finally loosening slightly, “It’s the uncertainty, I guess- I just... I really don’t like not knowing what’s gonna happen- it stresses me out a lot, I know that’s a really stupid reason to be unwilling to let something go, but...”

“No, it’s not,” Eric replies simply, pulling into the car park- he appreciates that Alan can make himself vulnerable around him, but he’s still scared he’ll approach it wrong, “I mean, you’re a forward thinking person, and I think you rely on it a lot.” He smiles at him, “Don’t panic, though, you got this.”

Alan smiles back, looking up at Eric with his black eyes, “Thanks,” He says quietly, “It means a lot to me.”

Eric turns away, pretending to be looking out the window as he parks, because Alan always does this smug little grin when he knows he’s embarrassed, and it really doesn’t help the situation, “Um, any time,” He replies lamely, and immediately wants to kick himself, “You got everything you need?” He asks, stopping the car.

Alan nods, “Think so.”

“Great,” Eric replies, his tone finalising, “Well- let’s go solve a murder.”

Alan laughs slightly, opening the door, “Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long fkdkdkdk I had exams I promise I didn’t just die!!


	19. 19- Case Closed

**Date: 22nd July, 1987**   
**Time: 9:09**   
**Location: Interrogation Station**   
**Temperature: when it's so hot that the air feels thick and you start imagining what it would have been like to be a poor child in the industrial era**

 

Eric pushes open the door, "Morning, Denise- Spears is here already?"

The woman behind reception smiles, "As always, Eric," She replies, "You know where you're going, I'm sure."

"I would hope," Eric replies cheekily, Alan following behind, "Thanks, Denise."

Alan speeds up a little to walk next to him, "So, plan of action?"

"Slow down, short stuff," Eric replies breezily, looking at his watch as he carries on walking, "We've got about- ooh, fifteen minutes? To talk stuff over with Spears, and at this point he's normally in full bitch mode, so whatever he says goes."

Alan raises an eyebrow, "I wasn't aware there was a time when he _isn't_ in full bitch mode."

Eric holds back a laugh, "Alright, alright, he'll hear you if you're not careful," He scolds playfully, walking into the elevator and pushing the button, "He's fucking sneaky."

Alan folds his arms, "How long do you think this is gonna take?"

Eric looks at Alan, "Are you booked up?"

"No, just wondering."

Eric frowns, "Depends. If they crack easily, then probably not too long, but from what we've seen so far..."

Alan makes a distinct 'ugh' sound, "It takes long enough to get back home, they better just 'fess up and then we can get lunch."

Eric smirks teasingly, "And what's wrong with staying at mine again?"

Alan stays unchanged, "You have a medicine basket, rather than a medicine cabinet, for starters- and I can't fit my meds in it," He replies breezily, "And you keep on trying to make me eat breakfast."

"Oh _no_ , my boyfriend doesn't illegally own dangerously strong painkillers and makes me eat like a normal person, my life is _over_ ," Eric mocks playfully, "Well, my problem is that my bed has felt kind of empty since then, and that's much more easily fixed."

"We'll see," Alan replies delicately, teasing, "What's for dinner in said hypothetical situation?"

"I don't wanna brag, but I have at least three meals that aren't M&S microwave meals- and I have The Breakfast Club on VHS."

"M&S?" Alan repeats, stepping out the lift, "I see no luxury has been spared."

"Nothing but the best," Eric plays along, knocking on William's office door, "Are you swayed, then?"

"I said, we'll see."

"Come in," William calls, and Eric pushes open the door, "Sit down, we still have time- I said _sit_ , Humphries."

Alan looks at William like a teenager mid-moodswing, reluctantly putting both feet on the floor, "You were saying?"

William sighs, resting his head atop his hands, "Well, Slingby- you want to prove that this was a group effort today, am I right?"

Eric shrugs, "Hopefully I'd be ending it today, but sure."

William raises his eyebrows, "You're awfully confident."

Eric laughs, "Well, I don't really have much of a choice," He replies, "We've hit more dead ends than a hairdresser, I'm just gonna be direct."

William takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk, "If that's what you feel is best. Humphries, I take it you have something of evidence in that notebook?"

Alan nods, "And you've got the last questionings on tape?"

William nods, "Of course."

"Sweet." Alan replies, slouching and crossing his legs, and something cracks, "So, we're set to solve a murder."

Eric shifts in his chair, "It definitely looks like it," He announces, "It's all just a matter of time, I suppose."

Alan starts chewing his thumbnail, Eric slapping his hand, scolding, "Do you ever think about how many murderers you've met in your job?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"I mean, you've probably met a murderer at some point. Almost definitely, now."

Alan wrinkles his nose, "Don't start."

Eric looks affronted, joking, "You started it, I just-"

"Mr Spears?" Someone knocks on the door, opening it, "I have three people here to see you."

"Being them in, Elise," William motions to three empty chairs as Elise escorts them in, "You may leave."

Alan shifts in his chair, "It's a bit cramped in here."

Eric nods, "Can't do much about it," He says indifferently, "We need to get on."

He sees Welch look around him nervously, sat in the middle, and despite his lanky structure, he can't have looked smaller in his whole life, fidgeting incessantly, looking paler than ever. He taps his foot, trying to disguise the shaking of his leg, but fails miserably.

Angelina looks annoyed, if anything, tapping her painted nails against the arm of her chair, legs crossed, looking sullen. Phelps, by stark contrast, seems to be doing his absolute best to take up as much of his chair as he can, legs spread out, one arm lazily draped over the arm of his chair, while he uses the other to rest his head, "Who's he?" He demands, gesturing vaguely at Welch, "What's he got to do with it?"

"We're doing the questioning, not you," Alan snaps, contempt already clear in his tone, "And we need to get a move on."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," William replies dryly, and Eric can't really tell if he's joking or not, "We do have some evidence we'd like to present to you- Humphries, I assume you have it written down, if you'd like to read it to avoid me making a fool of myself, please.”

Alan flips back in his notebook, growing a little, "You-" He points at Angelina, not looking up, "You said to us that you'd never actually met Phelps in your whole life, right?"

Phelps looks like he's been slapped in the face, while Angelina turns red, "I mean, not those exact-"

"Yes you did, it's written right there," Eric replies, "Phelps, you said that she attended your wedding to Dallas, and that you've seen her in passing since- so, would anyone like to tell us what's really going on between you two?"

Angelina looks nervously at Phelps, who carries on looking forwards, "We met frequently," She replies, reduced to little more than a whisper, "As did me and my sister."

The finality of this seems to be really settling in for everyone.

Eric nods, "Thank you," He says curtly, "Welch, have you ever met Phelps before?"

Zachariah looks up from biting his nail, eyes wide, "I, um..."

"A yes or no will do."

Welch bites his lip, "Yeah."

William nods, "So we've finally cleared that up," He says, "Now, Mr. Welch, you were with Juliet in the moments leading up to her death, am I correct?"

"Y-Yeah, I-"

"Mr. Hues-Phelps, did you see Juliet after the afternoon of the day before her death?"

Phelps shakes his head, "Didn't see her after she left the house."

William frowns, "I did some work myself and had the will sent over to me- you should have noticed the problem already."

Angelina recrosses her legs, shifting uncomfortably, "I'm afraid I don't."

Alan gives an irritated sigh, "This woman was thirty at the oldest- no health problems that we're aware of, unemployed, and married with children. Why would she have a will written?" Alan turns to William, black eyes glaring, "Oh, and thanks for telling us you did that, di-"

" _Al_."

William remains untouched, "I also found a rather interesting detail that the will wasn't written by Juliet," He says, handing said will to Eric nonchalantly, "It's is terribly amateur to assume that I have limited knowledge of the law in my position, Mr. Hues-Phelps. Would there be any particular reason for this?"

"She asked me to," Phelps replies cockily, folding his arms, "I'll never understand why, she was always a bit off, but that's the honest to God truth."

Angelina nods, "Juliet had made quite a few enemies of the wrong sorts of people, I suppose it finally caught up with her."

"This was written last year," Eric states bluntly, "And Welch is in it, so how long have you known each other?"

"A little before then," Phelps replies, still annoyingly overconfident, "We'd met briefly."

"Right, Za- uh, Welch," Eric presses onwards, looking at the will "It says here you're down for half her savings, and I remember when we came to your house last, you were on the phone with someone discussing money. Just be honest, was this related?"

Welch pales significantly, "Y-yeah."

Eric nods, "And who were you talking to?"

Welch looks like he might actually pass out, and Angelina seems to notice, "Me. He was talking to me," She says, "There were complications with the will."

Eric looks at Alan, and knows that he's thinking the exact same thing as him- the first half seems believable, but nothing on earth could make them believe that it was 'complications with the will'.

Alan frowns, flipping back back in his notebook, "So, what exactly was her fault, then?"

Angelina looks startled, and Eric feels a smug pride at Alan's diligence, "I- I'm not saying that-"

"Look, let's just get to the point," Eric prompts, his seemingly never-ending patience wearing thin, "Were any of you involved in the murder of Juliet Dallas, yes or no?"

Phelps immediately turns to look at Angelina expectantly, who tries her best to ignore her, while Welch sinks further into his chair, looking as if he's hoping that the floor will swallow him whole.

"Welch?" Alan prompts, instantly identifying him as the most vulnerable in the situation.

"I- Yes, we were, fine?" Welch snaps, completely volatile, "Just fucking lock us up already, I don't get why you're dragging this out so much, I- _fuck_."

'Fuck' does indeed seem to be the best word to describe the look on everyone's faces, Angelina suddenly pale, and Phelps' eyes are the size of the moon.

The room falls into a stunned silence for what feels like an eternity, before Alan mumbles, "I mean, but sure, can't do anything without a history in criminology..."

Eric almost wants to ask him if he's still holding onto that, but he forces himself to forget that for the time being, "Right." Eric says eventually, stunned, because in all his ten years of working in the police force, he's never seen someone break someone else down that easily, "I'm assuming this was to do with the will-"

"Of course it's to do with the will," Angelina snaps, having apparently admitted defeat, "You think Phelps wrote himself in for the house on accident?"

William sighs, leaning closer, "Let's just get on with this quickly, there's no point in dragging it out anymore," He says, looking tired, "Nothing was found upon autopsy, so how did you kill her?"

"Ricin," Welch says shakily, nothing more than a whisper, "It was ricin poisoning, and it was me who called the police."

Eric feels his heart fall a little- he knows he shouldn't have done, and that it's his own stupid fault, but he really does like Zacharias, and he sees much more a young and vulnerable young man who's been taken advantage of than a murderer- but, a job's a job, and a crime's a crime, and there's nothing that can be done about either of these facts.

Alan nods, "Lethal in tiny doses, that's why it never showed up on the toxicology."

Eric frowns, "You know this how?"

Alan waves a dismissive hand in his direction, "I read a lot," He replies simply, and Eric is not at all comforted by that, "So I’m assuming that you we’re the one who actually killed her?”

Alan really isn’t one to mince words in situations like this, but his face does falter a little when he hears the ugly sob that comes out Welch’s mouth as he nods, and Eric knows that it would be best for him and William to take the forefront again, “So, this is clearly a group effort,” Eric says, “Money’s the clear motivator, from what I can see...”

“Obviously,” Phelps replies bitterly, “My company was going under, Angelina’s barely making a living, and him- just _look_ at him, for God’s sake!”

Clearly, Alan isn’t the only one that identified Zacharias as the weak link.

“I’m getting the feeling that you and Miss Dallas orchestrated this whole thing,” William says dryly, “Would that be correct? And then Mr. Welch has been very much dragged into it.”

Angelina nods, looking guilty and completely hopeless, “When he came to collect that package- That was so I could have him explain the details of what he was going to do to me... We had something planned for a while, and when she left town, it... Just seemed like the best time.”

Phelps remains tight-lipped, looking thoroughly furious at the situation, and Eric can almost feel his anger radiating off him.

“So,” Eric breaks the silence,“We’d be looking at charges of murder, accessory to murder, some form of fraud, potentially bribery for Welch’s involvement...”

Alan frowns, raising his eyebrows, and Eric has never seen someone’s face say _‘You’re fucked’_ more accurately than that.

“That sounds right to me,” William says, “But we need not get into that now, it’ll be settled in court- I’ll call Elise back in to take these three away.” Eric has known William long enough to know that means, ‘You’re not needed here anymore.’

Eric stands up, while Alan grabs his bag, throwing in his notebook in, “I take it you won’t be needing us again.” He says, and he sees Alan cast a conflicted glance at Welch, still in tears, and he knows that he feels the exact same way that Eric does- at the end of the day, he’s just a vulnerable kid, barely the same age as Alan, who’s been dragged into something much bigger and much scarier than he is, and he thinks Alan can see how easily that could be him, which is why he naturally recoils from him.

William nods, “I’ll keep you updated if need be, but don’t hold out on it,” He casts a rare, barely there smile at Eric, “It’s been nice to see you again, Eric.”

Eric can’t hold back a smile back, “You too,” He replies, and he can see Alan easing himself out of his chair out the corner of his eye, “Take care of yourself.” He turns to Alan, “Ready to go?”

Alan nods, stretching as Eric opens the door, “Thanks, Mr. Spears...”

Eric closes the door behind them, and Alan lets out an incredibly resolute sigh, “Thank _fuck_ that’s finally over.”

Eric laughs a little, “So, what’s next on the agenda? Ice cream? Lunch?”

“Co-operative napping?” Alan pitches, looking at Eric, and he’d be lying if he said that Alan didn’t look like he needed it, or if he said that he didn’t feel like he could use it.

“Co-operative napping it is,” Eric agrees, pressing a kiss to Alan’s forehead, “Mine?”

Alan nods, “Your bed’s comfier than mine.”

Eric shakes his head, endeared “Charming.”

Alan laughs quietly, looking at the floor, his arms hanging lazily around Eric’s waist, “Love you, too.”

And somehow, Eric knows that he meant it with every bit of integrity then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! That’s the end of the main plot but!! There is One More Chapter bc.. closure u know fjxxbz


	20. 20- Epilogue

**Date: 15th February, 1990**  
**Time: 10:28pm**  
**Location: A home in the making**  
**Temperature: Exactly as warm as you'd expect a near-empty house with no heating to be in the middle of winter.**

"I just got off the phone with the gas company, we should have a working boiler by tomorrow afternoon, so I guess we're just gonna have to live like squatters until then," Alan looks pitifully at the mattress on the floor, "Are they  _sure_ they can't deliver the furniture any faster?"

Eric shakes his head, "Apparently they sent it to the wrong place at first, or something-" He explains, looking through a box for something, "At least we have electricity, I guess."

Alan gives the TV a skeptical look, "La Boum?" He says, sounding pained.

"What do you  _mean?_ It's the film of our time," He replies, only half joking, "Have we got all the boxes now?"

"Should do," Alan says, putting the last one on the floor and sitting down on the mattress, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, "I don't really think there's much point in starting to unpack now, though, since all we really have to put names right now is an empty house, a mattress and a 21" TV."

"I mean, that's better than you were doing at your old apartment," Eric replies cheekily, digging through the cardboard box that Alan had set on the floor, "Are you  _ever_ gonna throw away these vinyls? You're never gonna be able to do anything with these in another year or so."

Alan doesn't even try to hide his distain at the statement, "Well,  _sorry_  for having a shred of sentimentality, I guess," He pulls out what Eric assumes to be a Joy Division album, knowing Alan as he does, "This was the first record I ever bought, and literally the only thing I want to keep about seventeen year old me."

"Or, we could just turn on MTV." Eric replies jokingly, "Wait, is that Prince?" He says, before he can stop himself.

Ah,  _shit_. It's all fun and games until you actually agree with him.

Alan grins triumphantly, "Little Red Corvette- I got that for helping one of the students opposite us safely mix red bull and caffeine supplements, and that's how I met Ronnie."

Eric is fairly certain that every record here has a story, and he's not sure if he wants to know all of them, he decides, putting the vinyl in the record player in admitted defeat, "You're lucky I love you, specs, or I'd be fighting with you over this until the end of time."

Alan laughs, pressing a little kiss to Eric's cheek, "Remind me why I agreed to move in with you again?"

"Who else is going to convince you to sleep every so often while you're slaving away over your work?" He quips, smirking, "Speaking of, actually, your typewriter's in that box over there. Don't lift it on your own, you'll hurt yourself."

Alan gives a moody sigh, "It's not getting  _that_ bad." He insists, throwing the duvet over his crossed legs, "What food did you pack?"

"A family size pack of biscuits, a bag of Parma Violets, and the cheapest champagne Tescos has to offer."

Alan laughs, "Fine dining," He says, handing the champagne to Eric for him to open while he looks for the glasses, "What do we toast to?" He asks, as Eric pours out the champagne.

"Hm," Eric frowns, thinking, "Easy unpacking, friendly neighbours, and generous tax returns?"

Alan nods, clinking their glasses, "Easy unpacking, friendly neighbours, and generous tax returns," He says resolutely, and drinks, "Maybe not  _too_ friendly, though, otherwise they'll start trying to borrow our shit."

Eric laughs, "How old did you turn last week again? Eighty four?"

Alan takes a sip of his champagne, "We established a long time ago that I'm a bitter eighty year old widow in the body of a twenty-eight year old journalist," Alan jokes, "This isn't anything new."

Eric smiles, his honey brown eyes creasing, "I love you."

Alan grins back, "Good, you're stuck with me now," He replies, finishing his champagne and filling his glass up again, "You know, this  _tastes_ like the cheapest champagne Tescos has to offer, too."

Eric laughs, " _You_ told me to get the cheapest one I could find, don't blame me!"

Alan laughs, more than certain that there's absolutely no one he would rather spend the foreseeable future with than someone who makes him feel so at ease and happy- that, and he can't think of anyone who makes him laugh the same way and as  _easily_ as Eric does.

As hesitant as he may be to say it, after three years of sticking together, he can admit to someone other than himself that he's absolutely, one hundred percent in love with Eric Slingby.

And, personally, that's quite the achievement.

"Right, let's make sure we've got the important stuff," Alan says eventually, coming back down to earth, "Medicine?"

"I put that them with your clothes," Eric replies, downing the rest of his champagne, "God, that really is rank..."

Alan laughs, searching through the box with his clothes in, "I told you," He replies, already starting to feel a hazy warmth settle over him, and he silently curses his pathetic alcohol tolerance- he thought he'd have at least learned  _something_ at uni, but apparently not, "God, there's some relics in here- oh my  _God,_ my band shirts!"

Eric rolls his eyes, "I swear, you could donate half your belongings to a music museum."

"Yeah, but I  _wouldn't,_ these are mine," Alan replies without looking up, and Eric knows, without a doubt in his mind, that Alan's already planning new outfits with this discovery, "You really don't have a shred of sentimentality, do you?"

Eric hugs Alan from behind, Alan laughing breathily, "I just don't think it's good to live in the past," Eric mumbles, playing with a curly lock of Alan's hair, "I mean, I don't really have to anymore, since right now is pretty fucking great..."

Alan laughs, embarrassed and his heart swelling, and he presses a kiss to Eric's cheek, "You talk like the guy who drives a Mercedes in every trashy romance novel sometimes, you know?"

Eric smirks, raising an eyebrow, "So you've read enough romance novels to know specifically how the guy in a Mercedes talks?" He teases, "Three years, and you never told me?"

Alan plays along, too drunk to pretend to be annoyed, "I just want to stay full of surprises," He jokes, "Otherwise you'd get bored of me- and hey, it's working, I got a house out of it and everything."

Eric laughs, pulling Alan gently into his lap, "Don't get too comfy, you never know what might happen."

Alan frowns, raising his eyebrows and pretending to be hurt, "How very dare you," He looks at his empty glass, "Have we got any proper alcohol?"

"You don't  _need_ it, you're already getting a bit flushed," Eric mumbles, playing with Alan's hair, "You're not even meant to be drinking on Tramadol."

Alan gives a dismissive frown, "Brutus wasn't meant to stab Caesar; Pandora wasn't meant to open the box- the list goes on."

Eric shakes his head affectionately, "You're absolutely ridiculous sometimes, you know?"

"I'm completely aware, that's what makes it acceptable."

Eric laughs, "Something tells me you're drunk."

"That  _is_ the goal of drinking."

Eric gives him a playful tap, "Smartass."

Alan smirks, black eyes glimmering, "I know," He replies cheekily, and holds back a yawn, "I once got told it was my most defining feature..."

"Nah, that's being a sarcastic dick," Eric teases, pressing a quick kiss to Alan's forehead, " _And,_ you're tired as hell."

Alan frowns, finally giving in to the drunken haze, "I don't wanna sleep on just a mattress, it's gonna fuck my back up..." He whines.

"I know, but it's all we've got," Eric says, grabbing at the chance to be the voice of reason while Alan would still allow it, "And it's gonna be worse if you fall asleep like this, because then I'm gonna have to wake you up, and that means risking my life in ways I'm uncomfortable to attempt."

Alan gives a weak laugh, "Sure, whatever... It's cold anyway," He says, giving in much more easily than he would have done sober, "Where's the bedding...?"

Eric throws the pillows over, Alan catching one and letting the other land next to him, "Are you coming to bed too?" Alan asks, pulling his shirt off and starting to settle into bed, "It's cold."

Eric smirks- he knows  _just_ what he's trying to say, and under any other circumstance he would have teased him a little, just to get a reaction out of him, but he looks at him and just  _melts-_ sleepy black eyes, messy black hair, a pinkish, drunken glow settled over his cheeks- Eric doesn't have many weaknesses at  _all,_ but Alan makes the top of his list this no issues.

He wonders if Alan takes advantage of that for a moment, and decides in almost no time that of  _course_ he does. He's  _Alan_.

"Of  _course_ I'm coming to bed, it's not like there's anything else to do at the moment," He replies, getting into bed- realistically, he should be used to this by now, but Alan has a certain charm about him that just doesn't fade, "Love you, specs."

Alan immediately clings to Eric, as he usually would drunk (and sober, though he'd kill Eric if he told anyone), his soft, black hair tickling his neck, "Love you, too," He mumbles sleepily, nuzzling his head into Eric's shoulder, "Thanks for putting up with me for three years."

"My pleasure," Eric replies, "Thanks for agreeing to put up with me even longer than that."

Alan frowns, joking, "When did I do  _that?_ "

"When you agreed to move in with me?" Eric plays along, "Inadvertently, at least."

Alan sighs, " _Shit_." He jokes, "Good thing it's you, I guess."

Eric shakes his head, smiling and holding onto Alan a little tighter, "Go to sleep, Al."

Alan laughs a little, settling down, "I'm glad I met you."

That one takes Eric by surprise in the best way, feeling his cheeks get warm- you'd think after three years very little that Alan could do would surprise him, but Alan just has that certain something; and in all honestly, Eric loves to be surprised by him again and again.

"I'm glad I met you, too," Eric mumbles, "Now, are you gonna go to sleep or carry on making me blush?"

He sees Alan smirk through the darkness, and he can already see where this is going, "So I have a choice?"

" _No_ ," Eric replies firmly, repressing a tiny laugh, "Now go to sleep, you're absolute  _hell_ sometimes, you know?"

Alan grins, "Yeah, lots of people tell me that, it's kinda my brand," He says, voice getting husky with sleepiness as he kisses Eric's cheek, "Goodnight for real, now." There's a brief pause, and then a quiet, "I love you- I'm so excited to spend my life with you."

If Eric was taken by surprise before, then this was a whole new emotion as his heart beats ten to the dozen, face warm and his chest swelling, "Back at you, specs..." He stammers, cursing his brain for shutting down like that, "I love you, too."

Alan smiled peacefully, finally closing his eyes.

"I'm glad."


End file.
